


Bernie

by AaNnYyCcHhOoUu



Series: Millagh... Naaah! [3]
Category: Shameless (Podcast), Shameless (US), Shameless (US) RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Ian Gallagher, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Gallavich, Gallavich Endgame, Happy Ending, M/M, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25932958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AaNnYyCcHhOoUu/pseuds/AaNnYyCcHhOoUu
Summary: 2 years after Yevgeny came back into their lives, the Milkovich/Gallagher household has settled into a domestic life. Shit comes up, because you know... tough luck! But they manage and they are happy!They don't need anything more, but life is sending them a gift... up to them to decide to accept itDirect continuation of Babe and Blyad
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Millagh... Naaah! [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783597
Comments: 34
Kudos: 111





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all,
> 
> Hope you enjoy this next story! As usual there might be some angst but it all ends well as I am a sucker for happy endings!😍😋
> 
> Not quite sure yet how many chapters there will be but the story will be carried out to the end. Updates will be every 2 weeks on Saturdays.

Mickey let the water run down his face. Today was his last session with Winters. He had gone so far; he couldn’t really believe it himself. Funny enough, he didn’t feel much had changed, but when he applied himself and really looked at how he was feeling, the way she had taught him to, he couldn’t believe he was even the same person. The rage that was embedded in him for so long had almost faded away. He had had glimpses of what it could feel like to just feel good, when Ian had shown him love. Or when Terry died. He had decided back then that he would let go of all the shit pulling him back. Easier said than done. He was glad that he started to see Ian’s shrink. Because now it was just a normal feeling. The rage had stepped back. Being himself had become normal behaviour.

He had told Winters he needed more sessions. What if he couldn’t control himself? What if he reverted to his former self? But she was confident, she trusted him. She told him so. No one had trusted him before but Ian. And Ian’s crazy, right?

As he was lazily soaping his upper body, he replayed the last two months in his head. He couldn’t say he hadn’t seen it coming, because he had. All the signs where there. The crazy demanding sex drive, the lack of sleep, the constant chattering. But he had been so busy looking for fucking Iggy that he had missed it. So, he blamed himself. He blamed himself when Yev called him from the car.

The kid was resourceful, he had told his father where they were and taken the keys, letting Ian frantically looking for them. Ian had come take him from school in the middle of the morning and explained they were going to see auntie Mandy in New York. He had borrowed a company car from Mickey’s agency and was very happy to explain to his stepson what an amazing road trip they were about to take. They exited Chicago while Ian told Yev all the places he had planned to visit, the statue of liberty, Madison square garden. The kid understood something wasn’t right and had called his father when Ian stopped for gas and snacks. Mickey blamed himself for not explaining Ian’s condition to his son before. He had taken the easy way out a few times always pushing the necessary talk to the next time. The boy was old enough and intelligent enough to understand. He had just not thought Ian would pull the same shit exactly. What was it with him and running away with Yevgeny anyways? 

Mickey had informed Lip, picked up one of the company cars and gone to collect his husband and his son, hurried before the police got involved. He really couldn’t risk police involvement or what he had planned for Ian’s birthday would be compromised.

Yev had been pretty cool about it all. Demanding explanation about Ian’s strange behaviour. That made sense. He already knew Ian could feel under the weather from time to time, but, well, that was something else. Still, the kid seemed to grasp the concept of mental illness really easily and took upon himself to study it. After that he kept reading about it online and asking questions when he wasn’t sure. Mickey let him do, after all, he had done the exact same thing nearly ten years back. And, most importantly, the kid hadn’t changed his mind about the gift they had planned.

Mickey kept replaying the events in his mind, shampoo foam falling in his eyes. He kept replaying his conversation with Lip while in the car, getting more and more upset as he drove toward the address his son had found on Google map. Resourceful kid indeed. And Lip, ever so the analytical mind, tried to help him focus and not lose his shit. You’d have told him back in the days that Philip Gallagher would be his go to card when he needed advice, or to speak (to speak, man!), he’d have laughed at you, or maybe beat the shit out of you. But as it turned out, he was actually proud to call Philip Gallagher his best friend. Well, his second-best friend. _Ian_ was his best friend. Ian was his fucking everything.

Winters had told him, when he started seeing her that he needed someone he could count on, someone he could speak to. To which he replied he was paying her for that already. She had laughed but not dropped the subject. He needed a friend, a confident, someone he could speak to. About Ian also. The idea had travelled around his head for some time and somehow Debbie gave him the perfect reason to bond even more with his brother in law. She was fucking pregnant. How the hell that happened? The whole Gallagher clan was far less surprised than he was. And on the contrary, he was far less surprised than the rest of them when Debbie admitted she hadn’t told Iggy yet and that wasn’t the reason for him to take off. Iggy wouldn’t run away from his own kid; Mickey knew that much about his brother. So, he and Lip had taken upon themselves to make sure that at least one of Debbie’s children had a dad. But to say the asshole was sneaky was an understatement. Two years they’d been at it. Two years and they hardly got leads. Until a few days back when Mickey finally got one of his contacts in Mexico telling him they had just had a run with Iggy Milkovich in Los Angeles. Fucking Los Angeles!

Now, the thing is two year is long enough to bond over. And that’s exactly what happened. They started speaking. No. No, Mick started speaking. Not that it was the first time, he had spilled his guts to Lip before. But this time was on purpose. And he didn’t sugar coat it either, straight to the point. Straight to how frightened he was with Ian new endeavour to become a fire-fighter. How he was scared shitless that it would send him over the edge (well it took some time, but he was right about that). How much he wanted to be supportive about it but how hard it was. And Lip had listened, offered an understanding ear to him necessarily opening up. To his surprise, soon, Lip started confiding in him too. And more surprisingly so, ask for his advice, his opinion about Tami, his job, and even his drinking problems after a while. What Mickey didn’t know was that he was actually good advice, and an even better ear.

When time came to transfer the company from Lip to Mickey, one year into what they had not come around to call friendship yet, the obvious hit them. They hardly discussed it. Lip quit his job at the garage, much to Tami’s joy who finally had an excuse to stop frequenting her sister and her devil kids. Mickey put both their names as co-owners and co-managers of the company. Lip had worked hard too to get them where they were. And boy did they do well. 20 employees, clients all over the city, company cars and a 2-storey office in an old building not far from the Alibi. **MG security agency** was doing fucking well! The only thing Mickey asked was to keep the name of the company as it was, and Lip had no problem with that.

Mickey turned off the water and threw his hand out of the shower curtain to grab whatever towel he could put his hand on. He tied it low on his hips and exited the bathroom, throwing his dirty laundry of the day with the heap by the shoot. He entered the room and saw Ian was still sleeping. He got dressed as quietly as possible. He didn’t want to wake him up. One glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table, six in the evening, time to feed the herd. Debbie was working tonight so he was in charge of the family dinner, cleaning, homework check and bedtime stories. He categorically refused to admit it, but he really enjoyed the whole family schedule. He was fooling no one.

As he headed toward the kitchen, he stopped by Franny’s room, opened the still broken partition door and told her to tidy her room and wash her hands before she came downstairs for dinner. He then went to Debbie’s bedroom to pick up Darren. The kid was happily chirping in his crib, planting his bright blue eyes in Mickey’s when he opened the door.

“Uncwl Mic!”

“Yeah, Buddy. You sleep well?” The toddler smiled genuinely

“Uncwl An?”

“He’s sleepin’.” Mickey said kissing his nephew’s temple as he took him in his arms, happy he could feel the nappy light and odour less. Changing nappies was NOT his favourite thing. The kitchen was already occupied by Liam and Yevgeny doing their homework.

“How’s it going, guys?” Both kids nodded without looking up from their books. Mickey smiled as he settled Darren in the beaten highchair that had belonged to Liam, Yevgeny, Franny, Fred and now the last Gallagher/Milkovich, and would certainly still be used for the next kid to come up. Everyone’s money was on Carl. Carl’s money was on everyone but him; as he put it himself, his bachelor pad wasn’t equipped for that.

Mickey opened the fridge and collected everything he needed for tonight’s dinner. Tomatoes, beef and the left-over of pasta from the night before. He’d have to make more but he could still use these. They were doing well enough to not have to fear for food, but it wasn’t a reason to waste any. Actually, they were doing so well that Ian’s entire wages were going into Liam and Yev’s studies funds. And Mickey was fucking proud of it. This had been a topic for one of his sessions with the shrink, what would he have done if he had graduated from high school? In his mind, it wasn’t a question, lack of braincells and wrong environment, so wrong! But when he brought the topic with Ian, he seemed to think he would actually have been capable to, should he have been given to opportunity. It kinda warmed his heart realising how much Ian was believing in him, even when he wouldn’t.

He gave a piece of bread to the impatient toddler starting to rumble in his chair and started speaking to Yev as he grabbed a beer in the fridge and opened it.

“Yev, can I speak with you?” The boy looked at his father, expectant at the serious tone Mickey used.

“I just want to make sure you’re still ok with everything after what happened.” He tried to appear as detached as he could, but his heart was beating so hard he thought for a second the kid could see it through his chest.

“Yes, dad.” He looked at his father for a while. “It was a little scary, I guess.” He looked like he was weighing his next words for a moment. “But after all, I have a father and an uncle that work with cartels, a mother that run a Russian mob. I think I can deal with my other father going a little crazy from time to time.” Liam chuckled as Mickey growled. The nine years old was smart as hell. His father decided to nod proudly before changing topic.

“By the way, you called your mother?”

“Yeah, she asked if we received the signed paperwork for Ian. I said yes.” The skype calls had been from daily, to weekly and were now hardly monthly. Mickey wasn’t really happy with that, his son needed to have a relationship with his mother, even if only a virtual one. But they agreed from the start that Yevgeny would initiate the calls as much as he wanted. And as time went by the kid felt the need to call Lana less and less. Mickey also felt bad for her but wasn’t sure how to deal with that.

Lip, Tami and Fred joined them soon. As they were all busy getting ready for dinner, Ian came down the stairs, dragging his fit up to his husband and lazily wrapping his giant arms around his chest, dropping his head, face first in the crook of the neck of the shorter man. As it turned out, as Ian adjusted to his new medication regiment, he became very clingy. It wasn’t gonna last, for sure so Mickey decided to indulge (and secretly kinda liked it). It had surprised the rest of the clan the first few days, but they knew better than to interfere when it came to Mickey’s management of Ian’s illness. So, no one reacted when Ian sat on Mickey’s lap at the dinner table, Liam pushed Ian’s plate next to Mickey’s so he could eat.

After a while of everyone eating while listening to Franny explaining in detail how she used paint for her drawing at school (but not remembering what she drew), Mickey spoke up.

“You need to eat a little, babe.” Everyone briefly looked at Ian’s still full plate and resumed their listening to a little redhead that had not even noticed she wasn’t the centre of attention anymore. Over the last few years, Ian had had minor episodes, and the thing they learned from that was that they shouldn’t go all ‘Gallagher’ on him. Only Mickey could force Ian to do something. And even he had a way to go about it.

“Come on, that’d be weird ‘f I had to feed you, man.” Ian looked down at him and gave him the dirtiest smile he could muster as he blindly gathered some pasta on his fork.

“I wouldn’t mind.” OK, so he was feeling better. And Mickey gave him his best, brightest happy smile.

Because Mickey could do that now you see, randomly show his feelings. Right there and then, with everyone around, at the dinner table while Franny was explaining she had to punch Tim on the nose because he stole the pink shade she needed for her drawing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 years after Yevgeny came back into their lives, the Milkovich/Gallagher household has settled into a domestic life. Shit comes up, because you know... tough luck! But they manage and they are happy!   
> They don't need anything more, but life is sending them a gift... up to them to decide to accept it  
> Direct continuation of Babe and Blyad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> So chapter 2. Haven't had time to proof read it as much as I wanted to, so if you see mistakes, please let me know.  
> Some surprises in this chapter, but not the big one I hinted to. But soon, very soon things will change in the Gallagher household, let's hope it's for the best😊🤩  
> Please read end of chapter notes!

Ian woke up to a pretty hard on and was decided to not let it go to waste. They had been through a dry spell these last two weeks, what with the medication and all. And in comparison, the few weeks before that, his condition had made their sex life far too crazy for them now. Not that they had boring sex, never had, never will. But their interest had shifted somehow. Maybe because he had fully accepted his illness by now and its repercussions, maybe because Mickey had come to term with his inner anger thanks to Dr Winters, or maybe simply because they had matured and their relationship along with them. What was definitely sure was that the fact they didn’t have to hide, that they didn’t have to be scared anymore had played a part in it. And slowly but surely, over time, their acrobatic sessions had been replaced by love making. It was sweet, full of feeling. The orgasms were mind blowing. They still had porn type crazy sex every now and then, but fact was, those orgasms were not as fulfilling.

They had been so in phase together sex wise that Mickey even accepted to top a few times. The first time that happened, Ian understood how much the sessions with Winters had been beneficial for his husband. However, every time, he was very self-aware and in constant need of reassurance that he wasn’t hurting Ian. Added to the fact that despite his husband urging him, he always refused to have sex if Ian was too medically charged to enjoy it, the whole experience wasn’t very enjoyable for any of them. The Mickey topping Ian adventure was not repeated often, both men actually liked things exactly the way they were. This didn’t mean Ian had abandoned the idea that Mickey needed to understand and to accept that he wasn’t hurting him. And maybe, over time he would even find a way to be gentler and also enjoy it. It also didn’t mean they were not using toys from time to time, and Ian had reach to his husband’s conclusion that toys up your ass are very much appreciated. Boy, had these green beads been worth every fucking penny they cost!

He removed his hand from Mickey’s hold to place it gently on his husband’s growing shaft.

“Hmm,” chuckles, “mornin’ to you too!” Mickey had a lazy smile on his face. He threw his arm behind him, to lock it around Ian’s nape of neck, who in retaliation came kissing right below his Adam apple, slowly, sensually. Moans filled out the room quickly, both happy to indulge in naughty morning greetings. They remained like that, back to front for a while, kissing, gently stroking and grunting, until Mickey turned around and kissed Ian fully, tongue searching tongue, hand caressing its way down to a now leaking dick. He stroked it with more vigour, but still with so much care that Ian couldn’t stop sighing in his husband’s mouth. The taller man returned the favour in the shape of two fingers dripping with lube he had somehow managed to retrieve and pour unbeknown to the expectant man in his arms. He inserted both fingers at once, looking for discomfort on his lover’s face. Still. After all these years. Knowing this man’s body more than he knew his own, he still cared deeply for his comfort, his safety. He always had, even at the beginning when Mickey insisted, he didn’t care about him (and when Ian knew how not true that was).

Mickey made a quick move with his hips that resulted of him being on top of Ian, connected from lips to collar bones to waists. And kissing, kissing slow. Hands caressing, eyes closed. He directed his husband’s shaft to enter him, slowly but with no hesitation, they knew what they were doing, what they wanted. The shorter man took control, sitting up for more sensations and Stradling slowly but deeply. Small circular movements with his hips in between two deep strokes. His skin shivering under the touch of Ian’s hands traveling over his body. A few minutes of expert moves, and bliss came. For Ian first, showing all his tell tales, legs contracting, hands grabbing whatever piece of skin they could find (pecks and nipples this time), breathing stopping suddenly and resuming in a form of a low growl, eyes tightly shut. All these little things that Mickey could read like an open book, threw him over the edge too. Mickey’s orgasm was somewhat more subtle. He would spasm around Ian, his growls would become just a little noisier, his brows would frown a bit. To anyone that didn’t know him, there was nothing to see. To Ian it was a fucking saga in 10 volumes, and he knew all of them by heart. Not that anyone else but Ian would now ever have the honour to witness Mickey’s orgasm. Ever.

Mickey let his upper body fall heavily on his husband, eliciting a surprised ‘humpf’, quickly followed by a loud appreciative moan.

“That was fuckin’ good.” Statement. It wasn’t a compliment. It was a fact.

“Yeah.” Content sigh. Sex with Mickey, even after that many years, was always freeing somehow, Ian felt lighter, more ready for whatever was coming today. Mickey plopped back down on his back on his side of the bed and mechanically grabbed his phone on the bedside table. Two text messages.

Geneva / 8:58 – Hey! Are you looking for staff to work in Boystown? I’ve got two people interested that would fit the profile.

Mickey / 09:30 – I might. Is one of them a chick? Might need one for that new dyke bar on west cornelia. Comin tomorrow to meet em around 10. Make sure the asshole’s not round.

Mick was still amused at the fact Trevor had gotten a restraining order against him. If you’re not able to hold your own, you don’t fucking talk trash to Mickey Milkovich. Well he hadn’t talked as much as looked at him. But same difference, really, same difference! Ian had been pretty upset about the whole thing. The argument they had that day was epic, fists in faces and all. Until Mickey understood Ian had mainly gotten scared that his husband would go back to prison. “Thank fuck your probation is over,” Ian had yelled from the top of his lungs. The sex they had that day was epic, fists in asses and all.

J / 7:03 – Iggy number: (209)348 – 8014. Address: 2193 West Victoria Burbank. U owe me 1

Milkovich / 9:32 – fuck off

How glad was Mickey that the first thing he did when he got this new phone was to save ‘fuck off’ as instant-reply message.

Geneva / 9:32 – Yes, Mickey, one is a WOMAN! And the D word is not acceptable! As a gay person yourself, you should know how these words can hurt!

Mickey / 9:33 – fuck off

Mickey had raised his chin to accommodate Ian’s head, who had curled up on his side, while he was texting. Face buried in the crook of his neck; arm nonchalantly thrown across his belly, hand gently stroking at the tattoo on his husband’s chest. A habit they took a while back, touching their matching tattoos, caressing the skin there and knowing they were in it for the long run. Mickey had started this whole tattoo touching-soul grounding thing when he had started his sessions with Doctor Winters. It clearly was a mean to calm himself at first. And Ian felt so much pride and happiness that his tattoo, his chest, HE, was that one buoy Mickey was seeking to hold deer when he felt like he was sinking. As if there could have been anyone else but him to act as a lighthouse in the fog for Mickey while he was going through life changing shit. Of course, he knew that; he had no reason whatsoever to doubt it, just like Mickey had no reason to doubt him. Which was by the way the reason why Mickey chose Ian as his grounding totem. But knowing and feeling were two different things. And feeling Mickey’s hand landing on his tattoo every time he was feeling down, had actually grounded Ian too.

With time, it became more of a habit, a way to say ‘I love you’ with no words. One of the last sappy romantic things they were doing that remained for them only in this house were nothing, nothing ever stayed secret.

As soon as Mickey dropped his phone on his chest, Ian started dropping little featherlight kisses on his throat. Nothing sexual, nothing more than good morning kisses, retaliated by gentle strokes of the hand through his buzzed hair. Fireman official fucking haircut, fuck you very much! Mickey liked to grab Ian’s hair, for various reasons, not all sexual, by the way, but he couldn’t anymore. He planted a kiss on Ian’s forehead with an exaggerated ‘mwak’ noise, to which Ian chuckled.

“Come on babe we have a shit load to do, and I just got fuckin’ Ig phone, fuckin’ finally! I’m gonna call him right now! What time is it in Cali, anyways!” Ian quickly looked at the clock on the bedside table as Mickey was getting up.

“7:30,” he answered lazily, moving around on the bed to lay starfish style, not bothering to move the bedsheet to cover his naked self.

“The fuck you know that kind of shit from the top of your head?! Dork!” Mickey said as he looked at him fondly. Ian laughed at the comment. Mickey returned the laugh and he threw clean boxers to Ian. He was still laying on the bed, looking at him, right hand gently tapping and playing with the bunch of hair right under his belly button.

“D’you think he’ll come back when you tell him?” The shorter man looked at him for a sec before resuming dressing up.

“Yes, he’ll come back. It’s his son!” Mickey annoyingly waved his hand in the air. The topic was getting old. “Come on now, we’re helping the kids on that stupid project today. They’re already downstairs. I’ll join you when I’m done with Iggy.”

“I don’t think the project is stupid. It’s good to get a glimpse of the southside we know before it disappears.” He got up, put on his boxers, and slid his way to his husband nonchalantly circling his arms around his waist.

“Also, you might fool everyone, But I know you’re proud of Liam and Yev for doing that video. You can’t fool me.”

“Ah, yeah? Why’s that?” Mickey didn’t even try to hide the giant smile illuminating his face.

“’Coz I know you by heart.”

“Oh, you do, now, do you? Huh?”

“Yeah I do Mickey. For example, I know that you want to kiss me right now.” Ian spoke with a grin on his face, planted in front of his husband, obviously waiting for him to make a move. And sure enough, he did. Mickey chuckled and grabbed Ian’s neck, pulling him down to close the gap between their two bodies. Huge smile on his face as he planted an open mouth kiss right in the corner of Ian’s mouth. They kissed for a while, tongues gently playing, arms pulling sweaty bodies closer and closer. The laziness of the act was not lost on them, it wasn’t a ‘I want you kiss’, not even a ‘I love you’ kiss. It was just kissing because they could. Because they were entitled to kiss whenever they felt like it, with no reason, no goal other than wanting their tongues in the other one’s mouth. They could do that now. Because Ian was managing his illness, because Mickey was managing his emotions. Because they were married, because they were fucking parents. They could act as a couple without calculating, expecting, avoiding any kind of shitty consequence. To anyone that didn’t know their history that would seem obvious. To them it was a fucking victory over absolutely everything.

“Maybe we should shower and brush our teeth before we do anything.” Mickey chuckled in Ian’s mouth. And so, they took a shower, together. Another habit they didn’t have to think about. It happened when it happened, it didn’t happen when it didn’t happen. Although they couldn’t deny they preferred when it happened.

*

Showered, dressed and ready to go in 10 minutes, Ian went downstairs as Mickey stayed in the room and concentrated on inhaling long drags of his cigarette. He tried to categorize in his head everything he had to tell Iggy, from ‘must tell’ to ‘can wait’. He actually didn’t know where to start, what to say exactly. He just knew he had to inform his brother who disappeared one day with no explanation, that he had a two-year-old son waiting for him.

Four rings, maybe he’ll get the voicemail. Should he just leave a message? It’d be so fucking easier!

“What?!” Shit.

“Ig, it’s Me… It’s Mickey.”

“Mickey! How…” Smoker morning cough. “How d’you get my number?” Before he could answer, Iggy spoke again. “How are you man? How’s Ian?... and Yev?”

“Good, they’re good. Listen man, there’s something I need to tell you…”

“Look bro, I left ‘coz I needed some time to think about… stuff and shit. And I have it good here, now, so, I’m good you know.”

“Yeah, ok. Debbie was pregnant when you left man, you got a son. When you done thinkin’ about stuff and shit, you come back deal with that ‘coz I’m fed up raising your fuckin’ kid, alright, shithead?” So, yeah, not exactly the way he wanted to present things, but well, it went that way. Mickey took a deep breath and was impressed with himself at how easy it was now to calm his anger down.

“What!?” It came as a whisper, the quality of the call rendering the voice almost inhuman. Mickey didn’t reply, he knew his brother needed to process the information, so he patiently waited for Ig to start speaking again.

“Wh… How is he?”

“He’s a cool lil’ dude, man.” Mickey unconsciously smiled.

“He’s got these blue marbles, He’s your son for sure!” Mickey chuckled and breathed deeply when he heard his brother retaliate.

“Plus, he annoying as fuck, so yeah, you’re his father alright!” Iggy was downright laughing now, and Mickey felt relieved somehow.

“How’s Debbie?”

“She’s good too. Look, she’d understand if you didn’t come back for her, but your son needs a dad man.” Silence.

“Yeah.” More silence.

“Yeah. Right. Ok. Yeah, I’m coming back Mick, I just need to settle things here. Should take me about a week.”

“You need cash, I can send you cash.”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll see you soon I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess,” the Milkovich brotherly love display at its fullest. Mickey was about to hang up when Iggy asked a last question, the one that told him that his brother had taken in the full impact of the information he had received.

“Hey, by the way, what’s his name?”

“Darren.”

“K.” He could feel Iggy was wondering about the boy’s name and decided to let him know the full story (Like that at least he’d know where he was headed with Debbie Gallagher craziness)

“She wanted to call him Dargen.”

“That’s not even a name.” Iggy said mechanically.

“Nah, it’s their mother’s maiden name. It took Lip a few weeks to talk her out of it and into Darren, ‘coz it’s close.”

“Guess I should thank Lip then.” Mickey laughed and they hanged up on a mutual “K, then.”

*

Mickey had lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply within seconds of throwing his phone on the bed. That’s when he heard the commotion downstairs. He exited the room with a sigh, arguments and fights happened regularly in the Gallagher household, when it wasn’t the kids, it was the adults. Tami and Lip a lot lately. On everything.

There was nothing to be upset or annoyed or angry about, most of the time. Mickey even found those quarrels quite entertaining compare to the bloodsheds the Milkoviches were famous for. Except when it came to Frank. Frank made Mickey’s blood boil. Because Frank knew exactly what to say to push your buttons. And although he wasn’t ‘Terry violent’, Frank had hit Ian a few times. The last time he came around he had shoved little Freddy against the wall to get to the beers in the fridge.

Mickey was trying to intervene as little as possible as the siblings were used to Frank’s tantrums and knew how to act. But when he saw the two-year-old kid on the floor bemused to the point that he wasn’t even crying, his blood boiled under his skin. He actually reached Frank faster than lip, fisting the drunk’s dirty t-shirt at the collar and pushing him into the fridge. Lip was right behind him shouting at Frank to get the fuck out. The old man was waving and laughing under his grip, and Mickey had just the time to move to the side before Lip’s fist came colliding straight with his father’s nose. Mickey collected the heap of flesh and smell and bloody nose by the back of his collar and drove him through the back entrance, and down the stairs unceremoniously. Back inside, he just quickly patted on the back of a seemingly still angry Philip, holding his son close to his chest, to notify him that the trash was out. A year later, Lip recall this moment as the moment he and Mickey became friends.

Down the stairs, Mickey smelled Frank before he could see him. He snorted, ready to help if needed. As he came closer, he heard tears. Yevgeny’s tears. His blood rushed to his head in point nought seconds, he ran into the kitchen and assessed the situation in a flash. Frank had grabbed Yevgeny by the collar, Liam was holding his arm backward in an attempt to stop him. Ian was holding the bat, but he seemed to have frozen, right there by the fridge. Proving that his meds were still not hundred percent back on track.

Mickey Acted fast and efficiently, grabbed a laughing Frank by the back of his dirty t-shirt, pulled him so strongly that the old drunk let go of Yev. In an attempt of keeping the upper hand, the Gallagher shoved the kid who fell on the floor hard, loudly crying by now.

After that, there was no stopping Mickey, he pulled Franks hair with his other hand and directed the smelly head toward himself not making any effort to lower himself.

“You think you can hurt my kid like you hurt his dad, huh Frank? You think you can come to my house and hurt the people I love and get away with it? That it?” The short man was composed. It wasn’t Mickey Milkovich rage it would have been a few years back. It was a man protecting his family.

“Your house? This is MY house Mickey, has been MY house for generations. You’re just a guest here, invited by my sexually adventurous son. I’m the head of this family and as such I am allowed to use whatever I want in this house. It belongs to me. ME. Before it belongs to you or the next Milkovich generation of jail bird.” He looked at Yevgeny intently with a sarcastic grin that sent jolts up Mickey’s spine. He pushed the drunk heavily onto the kitchen counter. The strength of it bent Franks body in an awkward angle before it dropped on the floor.

“You’re not a Gallagher, never will be Mickey. You can pretend all you want, wave any piece of paper you want, show any ring you want, it won’t change the fact that you will never really be part of this family.” Voice coming low from the heap of dirty cloth and human flesh on the floor.

“Well, actually, he is.” Ian had found his mojo back listening the nasty speech from Frank Gallagher.

“Whatever you say son,” Frank exaggerated his laugh just enough to make everyone cringe.

“No, you don’t get it, Frank. He is a Gallagher, changed his name after our wedding. And this is his house too, more than yours.” The words seemed to reach Frank for a second before he showed his ‘don’t give a shit’ smile. He got up on wobbly legs, resting his weight on Yevgeny to help his effort, pushing the kid in the kitchen counter. As the 9-year-old doubled his crying under the pressure.

“You’re crying ‘coz you’re the only bastard that’s not a Gallagher in this shitty house full of ungrateful assholes?” The tone was made to hurt, Frank openly hoping to make the kid cry even more. But Yevgeny Milkovich was a Milkovich after all. A Milkovich that was allowed to express his feelings and not scarily hide them away, but a Milkovich non the less. And so, his Milkovich side took over, he swiped his tears with the heel of his hand, pushed Frank, the momentum and Mickey’s help made the patriarch stumble backward.

“I’m gonna be a Gallagher too, as soon as Ian signs the adoption papers!” The kid looked him straight in the eyes. The tone was assured. And as sure as Frank knew he shouldn’t mess too much with Mickey Milkovich, he knew right there that he pretty soon, he wouldn’t be able to mess with Yev Milkovich either. Well… Gallagher.

Mickey didn’t let anyone take in the information. He hardly heard the breathless ‘What’ Ian mumbled behind him as he carried Frank out by the collar, opened the door and threw him down the stairs with probably less care than he would for garbage. As the old man started on another rant about the use of his name without his consent, Lip, reached the house and unfazed, stepped over his father, climbing up the stairs. He was wearing one of MG Security Agency t-shirts and sure enough, Frank snorted as he read the full name of the company on the back of the t-shirt.

“Mickey Gallagher Security Agency?! Well, I say the least he could do when he’s using my good name for business is pay me royalties!”

“GFY, Frank! Mick has done more for this name than you ever will in your too fucking long life!” He entered the house not waiting for the answer that would definitely come.

In the kitchen, Lip walked in on Liam holding Mickey by the waist (the man resting his hand on his shoulder in retaliation) and Ian holding Yevgeny in his arms so tight the kid couldn’t move a limp.

“Of course, I’ll fucking adopt you,” smile wider than ever.

“I thought it was meant to be a surprised.”

“Yeah, Frank fucking ruined that.” Mickey’s tone was annoyed but his face was showing the brightest smile as he was looking at his husband and his kid hugging even tighter than before if possible.

“You must call me dad now, ok?” Ian kissed his son cheek before abruptly throwing his head back.

“Oh no wait! You already call Mickey dad! That won’t be practical.” Before he could go on, the kid spoke.

“I thought I could call you papa. Is it ok?”

“That’s fucking perfect!” Mickey interjected. They both looked at him with a luminous smile. Because, yes, it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how does Mickey Gallagher ring? And Yevgeny Gallagher?
> 
> There'll be more details on what led Mickey to this decision later. And also why Micky is not comfortable with toping.
> 
> Next chapter around 15 September. In the meantime, please kudo, please comment. I grew addicted, need my fix😋


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 years after Yevgeny came back into their lives, the Milkovich/Gallagher household has settled into a domestic life. Shit comes up, because you know... tough luck! But they manage and they are happy!
> 
> They don't need anything more, but life is sending them a gift... up to them to decide to accept it
> 
> Direct continuation of Babe and Blyad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all,
> 
> Hope everyone is sound an safe!
> 
> Here is chapter 3. And here is the big surprise life is sending the 2 hubby's way. Hope you stick with me here because I went somewhere with this... not quite sure where, but, oh well!
> 
> Please let me know what you think so I feel less alone in that crazy imagination of mine!
> 
> Also, It looks like this story will be 8 chapters long. 
> 
> Next update early October😊

“Oh come on! You’re fucking cheating!” Mickey untangled his feet from Ian’s to playfully kick him on the shin. Ian openly and loudly laughed at that, threw the controller on the coffee table, and grabbed his can of Mountain Dew.

“I always beat you, I’m simply better, Mick. It’s about time you admit that!” He reached back to hold his husband’s cheek in the palm of his hand. His tone was playfully sarcastic, but his position was tactically week and sure enough the other man took advantage of it. Ian hardly had time to put the can on the floor before Mickey straddled him. Holding his arms above his head on the side of the couch with one hand and tickling him with the other. The asshole knew exactly where to hit, with time he learned how ticklish Ian’s armpits were. Same for his sides, right above the ribs. And he was relentless too, going at it until Ian laughing brought tears.

“Ah yeah, you beat me, huh? How ‘bout I show you who beats who, huh, Gallagher!”

“Aaaah, No Mick stop, it’s ok, ahhhaaaahhhaaa, you win, you win!” But Mickey kept going, and maybe, just maybe, if Ian wasn’t still feeling tired with this new medication, he had not quite adjusted to yet, he would have tried to fight for dominance. But he didn’t. Instead he kept scream-laughing until his muscles got sore. And Mickey was laughing out loud too. And they didn’t hear the doorbell. And they hardly heard Carl when he told them they looked like kids on his way to the front door.

“Hi, is this the residence of Mikhailo Milkovich?” Mickey slew down his movements enough to just shout over his shoulder.

“It’s Gallagher now! Fucking got married to that fucker!” And he went back to tinkling Ian full speed, eliciting another scream from the man below him.

“Child services Mr… uhm… Gallagher” Full attention now. The two men raising straight up, looking at the woman at the door. Taking in the scene, fully aware now. The woman, tall and thin with glasses and curly short grey hair was scribbling on the thick file she was holding in her hand while Carl seemed petrified, looking outside, right behind the woman.

The two men were shocked. They were doing good with Yev, so why would child services come unannounced?

“Fuck, Frank!” Ian couldn’t keep his eyes away from the woman. Mickey looked at him for a second and took in the irony of the situation. Both men, standing awkwardly, red from exhaustion, hair dishevelled, because they were having a tinkling fight. And now they were on the verge of losing their son! He processed what Ian had just said. Frank, of course Frank!

“I’m gonna fucking kill him” he muttered before walking toward the door.

“Look, Yev is at school right now, but we…”

“Yev?” The woman looked him in the eyes for the first time. She actually seemed nice, maybe he could talk her out of whatever she was here for. But he’d need Ian for that, Ian was the smooth talker.

She looked down at her papers, shuffling around and smiled when she found what she was looking for.

“Ah! Ye… Yevengeny Milkovich, your son, right?” She looked back at him adjusting her glasses.

“Gallagher,” Ian said just as he joined his husband and placed a gentle hand on the small of his back. Mickey slightly shivered at the welcomed touch.

“And it’s Yev-ge-ny”, the ginger man insisted. The woman looked at him with a genuine smile that didn’t sit well with him, nor with his husband. Social services don’t usually do house calls with good news.

“Oh, that’s good… very good!” Her white teeth showing. “Did you file the paperwork?”

“Yeah, last week. What’s it to you anyways?” Mickey was starting to lose patience. Knowing his brother-in-law enough to guess what would happen next, Carl took upon himself to provide Mickey with all the information before he spoke his mind. The younger Gallagher pulled the other man toward him and directed his look outside to where he was silently watching from the start. Mickey pushed away from his hold with his right arm.

“The Fu…” The word died in his mouth when he saw fierce blue marbles looking him straight in the eyes. Ian caught his breath as he discovered the object of everyone’s attention by now. The kid must not have been more than four or five. She had dark curly hair cut in such a way that it was hard to hold in a do, so it sort of fell on her face. She was wearing worn out pair of jeans with roses embedded at the bottom hems and a long sleeve pink t-shirt. She was holding a small wooden box of which the front had a picture slid in the slot planned for that purpose. Ian looked at the woman on the picture for a while. She was a little overweight, had straight bland chestnut hair and brown eyes. She was not remarkable whatsoever. But the girl was. Those eyes… Those eyes were Milkovich manufacture, and her glare confirmed it for sure. When he looked at those eyes, Ian couldn’t help but think about Mickey in little league.

“Mr Milkov… Gallagher, sorry. This is Bernadette, her mother Rita Bertolucci sadly passed away. And you’re the closest next of kin.”

“Who the fuck is Rita Bertolucci?” Mickey wasn’t in a jovial mood anymore, nor was Ian.

“Well… you’re listed as the father.” Carl gasped loudly, reminding everyone else he was here.

“Carl, leave.” Ian’s tone was definite, Carl went back to the kitchen hoping he could still eavesdrop.

“I have no fucking clue who that is and I’m no one’s father!” Mickey was replying to the woman but looking straight into Ian’s eyes, clearly trying to convince his husband there was no wrongdoing there.

“Look, you are clearly listed as the father. We had difficulties to find you because the address on file wasn’t correct. Ms Bertolucci listed you as the father after she quit her job at Cook County Jail and…”

“Cook co… Fuuuck,” Mickey obviously had a realisation. Ian looked at him expectantly before snorting when he saw his husband’s expression change. “Sure!” he muttered before going to the kitchen, ignoring Mickey calling him.

“Ian! Fuck!” Mickey turned back to the lady, avoiding the girl’s stance as much as possible. “Listen, doesn’t she have a grandmother or an aunt that can take care of her?”

“No, you’re the only next of keen. It’s you or the system.” The woman was looking at him in the eyes. Fuck, she knew, didn’t she? She knew he wouldn’t let the kid go into the system.

“Fuckin’ fine!” He grabbed the stack of papers she was handing over and quickly signed, in an obvious hurry to go and talk it through with his husband.

The social worker turned to the little girl still looking at the man who apparently was her father with a firm glance. The woman took her bag and moved it into the house. She then kneeled and grabbed her by the shoulders to draw her attention. The girl only moved her eyes to look intently at the woman.

“Come on Bernie, this is your father, he’s gonna take care of you, alright?” The woman tried to comb the crazy hair away from the girl’s face with her hand. It came back straight away. “I’ll be back in a week to see how you’re doing. That’s only seven days, ok?”

“I want to go back with mommy.” The girl said sternly, lips tight and dark look. But no tears, she was a strong little warrior. Mickey thought of Mandy in that instant, Mandy when she was a kid and their father had hit him, again. How she looked at their dad and defied him with her dark glance and tiny fists to try that again.

And just like that he was gone for the girl. She was his daughter and he would protect her and love her, and Ian needed to understand that. Ian would understand that, for sure.

“Come on… B… Bernie?” He looked at the woman who nodded. “Come on, Bernie, let’s get.” He handed his hand over for her to grab. Which she did reluctantly.

*

In the kitchen, as Carl was seated at the counter, eating cereals directly from the box, Ian was pacing, turning round and round between the kitchen counter and the fridge. When Mickey came in, the kid’s hand in his, Ian stopped abruptly. He noticed his husband had his phone in the other hand. And sure enough, Lip opened the door just a few seconds later.

“What’s fuckin’ happening now?” The older Gallagher’s sight landed on the kid still holding Mickey’s hand. “Oh shit!”

“Yeah, shit is right! Apparently, Mick has decided to father a whole fucking soccer team, referees included!” Ian chuckled humourlessly.

As the atmosphere was getting thick, Carl got up from his seat and grabbed the girl who startled a little at the gesture. He sat her down on the next stool and poured some cereals directly on the counter. She looked at him for a second before grabbing a handful and throwing it in her mouth, dropping half of it all around. It made Carl chuckle and she smiled at him. He took the wooden box she had delicately put on the counter next to her and looked at the picture.

“That your mom?” She nodded looking at him in the eyes. “She was beautiful,” he winked at her. He then diverted his glance to Mickey.

“Me too, I like them voluptuous!” All looks (but the kid’s) turned to him. And that was it for Ian, he rolled his eyes, snorted and made his way out of the house at once.

“I mean…”

“Shut the fuck up, silence of the lamb!” Mickey shouted as he followed Ian suit. But before he could exit the house, Lip stopped him.

“Let him sulk for a while,” he smiled genuinely at his brother in law. “First things first, we need to make room for her in Franny’s room, sure Debbie won’t mind.” He closed the door and asked Carl if he could look after the girl as him and Mickey went upstairs.

In the room, they worked in silence to tidy and make some space in the chest and wardrobe to welcome Bernie’s belongings. Until Lip couldn’t hold it anymore.

“So, you gonna tell me what happened?” Mickey sighed, defeated.

*** 4 years, 9 months earlier ***

_“Mickey, Mickey, wake up Cabron!”_

_“Fuck, whaaa?” The man startled in his bunk bed and shot his fist in the air, ready for a fight_

_“You had another bad dream, you were screaming this time, hombre. You can’t scream in here!”_

_“Shit!”_

_“Yeah, shit, exactly! You shouted his name this time.” Damon let the information sink in. That Ian guy was gonna be the end of his cellmate. And Damon wasn’t really happy with that because he liked Mickey. The man was smart, discreet, easy to speak to and quick with his fists. Everything that would make him a good recruit. His homosexuality was a none factor for Damon, but he knew that wasn’t the case for everyone in here. Hell, he knew fucking Terry Milkovich! Yet another reason he decided to take Mickey Milkovich under his wing, when you got the guts to come out to Terry Milkovich there can’t be many things that scare you. As he learned to know his new friend, he understood that the one thing he was deeply scared of had happened to him already. And that Ian asshole had done it to him. He didn’t like that guy even though he’d never seen him. But you don’t talk shit about Ian Gallagher to Mickey Milkovich. That much Damon knew. That much everyone knew._

_“I think Santiago and Perralta heard you, man.”_

_“I don’t give a shit about what those assholes heard,” the brunette spoke loud enough for the guards to shush the whole wing._

_Mickey couldn’t take it anymore. He tried, he really tried. For months he tried to forget about Ian, tried to keep his head down, do his fucking time and get on with his crappy little life until he gets a bullet in the head in a dark alley. That’s all he was expecting from life anymore. And he tried to be OK with it. But Ian had spoiled him, Ian had showed him happiness. And then Ian had taken it away, but that was too late. Mickey had had a taste of it, there’s no coming back from that. And now, Damon was speaking about Mexico, about freedom and cocktails on the sand and easy money. And of course, Mickey’s brain betrayed him. Of course, he dreamt about sand, and cocktails and easy money. Of course, he imagined freedom with Ian on the sand with fucking JDs and easy life. And then Ian would run away, on the beach, he would try to run after him, but Ian was fast to run away from him, to abandon him. And he called him, to the top of his lungs, screamed his name until it hurt. But Ian never stopped, never turned around. And Mickey would wake up. And he couldn’t take it anymore._

_“Need to get the fuck outta’ere.” He whispered matter-of-factly after he heard Damon bunk squeak under his weight._

_“How?”_

_“Don’t know yet.”_

_“Mierda.” Damon recognised the resolute tone, and although he might try to be the man of reason in the morning, he had already decided in that instant that he would jump on the unstoppable train that was Mickey Milkovich when he has this resolution in the voice. The man seemed out of his spleen, and freedom can be a powerful motivator._

_*_

_A week had passed, and Mickey hadn’t changed his mind. He’d get out of there no matter what he had to do. And Damon had made up his mind, he’d be going with him. The man was focused, alert, he hadn’t had a dream in a week and although he didn’t say anything, the Mexican knew a plan was already forming in his mind. Why else would he get closer to ‘Big Jugs Rita’?_

_“Come on Milkovich, I won’t fall for your sweet talk!”_

_“What sweet talk? I was only asking if you wanted to bang.” Mickey didn’t do sweet talk, never had to. Somehow, he knew he already had her in the palm of his hand, just needed a physical endeavour to seal the deal. Maybe she thought there was something there, maybe she would get hurt. But ultimately, he could care less. If she couldn’t see he was playing her, if she had missed the report of his very public coming out, it was all on her._

_It took another week for her to throw her professionalism down the shoot and push Mickey in the guard office one night she was on duty. And it took two encounters for her to abandon her principles and leave the door to their cell open. Mickey had to endure two tortuous sex sessions for that. The girl was nice and kinda cute he guessed but really, Ian Gallagher had ruined him, he was gay for good. And, well, he had to get it up right? So, he let his mind wander, to freckles and red hair and sweet whispers. It got the job done, it got him closer to his freedom. Closer to Ian._

_He had thought about it. Wondered whether he should try to contact his former lover when he was out. Damon had advised not to delve with the past. They had their work cut out for them on the outside. Going to Mexico, start a new life, away from all that shit. But Mickey knew, who was he kidding, he knew. He knew he would try because he had to. He had to have his heart broken one last time to learn his lesson. So, he wouldn’t be too hopeful, he would give him ways out at every corner, but he had to try. He had to contact Ian, let him know he was out, let him know his plans. Mexico. The beach. The Mojitos. Them._

_And Damon would have to be ok with that. Fuck Damon._

_“You’ll have to lay low for some time before we can meet again.” She was looking at him expectantly. He couldn’t lie, couldn’t say the truth either. He just grunted as he pulled his orange overalls back on._

_“So, at 3, right? You’ll open the door?” She surrounded him and planted a kiss on his cheek, he let her do with no reaction. He needed her on his side for now. After that who cared. He would be on in Mexico. The beach. The Mojitos. Them. Them… Ian… Freedom. Could he actually have one without the other, was it still possible? That’s why he would try again, even though he understood very well that the love of his life had carried on living without him, he would try. Because Ian Gallagher was his fucking freedom and that was it. He tried to not think of the fact that Ian would very likely not even acknowledge him because just the thought of it killed him on the inside. He needed to be sharp, focused. Escaping from prison was bold. Staying in Chicago longer than necessary to rekindle with a former lover was even bolder (and kinda stupid). He couldn’t afford to get himself into a spleen, even for Ian fucking Gallagher._

_He watched Rita give him a final smile as she walked away. He knew she was infatuated but he couldn’t bring himself to care. She was a mean to an end, like all the women he’d been with. Be it to hide his homosexuality from his father, or try to get over Ian, that’s all sex with women was for him. A mean to an end. Even now that he felt free to be himself, thanks to Ian, he still had to use a woman to get out, back to him. If he still wanted him. That pinch in his heart again. He had to focus._

_“Ok, it’s happening tonight, ready?”_

_“Si.” Damon snorted. “You sure you can trust your cousin?”_

_“Yeah, Sandy will be here with the car.” Damon smiled. He knew Mickey had it in him. That’s why weeks ago he decided to trust him with the escape. He organised their way into Mexico, but Mickey was the one to get them out of jail. And he delivered!_

_“Adios Motherfucker.”_

_“Yeah, all of it.”_

_“This is not me anymore.”_

_“Fuck you Gallagher.”_

_Maybe freedom wasn’t worth it after all…_

_***_

Franny’s bed was big enough for the two girls to sleep head to toe for the night. They had already planned to go pick up two smaller beds the next day.

“It’s just…” Mickey couldn’t finish his sentence. He had no difficulty anymore confiding in his best friend. But what he was about to say, he had kept for him for two years now. “Fuck!”

Lip was seated on the stairs outside the Gallagher’s house, patiently waiting for Mickey to talk. He grabbed two cigarettes in his pack, lit them both and handed one to the man pacing on the porch. They had come outside for a smoke now that it was forbidden inside the house. When Debbie had first decided this after Darren was born, Mickey had complained a bit, but he wasn’t kidding anyone, so he admitted it was a good idea. And when he noticed their clothes where not smelling like last night ashtray, smoking was even banned in their bedroom. Ian had laughed hard the first time he found Mickey in his underwear, on the back stairs at the crack of dawn, for his morning cigarette.

The blue-eyed man grabbed the lit cigarette that was offered to him and ungracefully dropped next to Lip.

“The thing is, I blamed Ian’s episodes on you for killing my dad, on his new job for being overwhelming, on the fucking weather even. I fucking know it’s all on me. Having my fucking dad trying to kill us. Forcing Yev on him. And now that. I thought we could face all the fucking difficulties together. I didn’t think I would bring most of them!” his breath stuttered. They both knew it was the tail for his tears. “Fuck!” He swallowed hard and forced the tears away.

“Mick, my friend.” Lip nonchalantly dropped a hand on his shoulder, not getting closer, though. “It’s not your fault, it’s not mine, it’s not the fucking weather either. It’s genes and life being a bitch.” Mickey shrugged.

“He’ll come around; you know he will. He always wanted kids and you delivered as usual.” Lip said the last sentence with a big smile.

“Fuck off man!” Mickey tried to be his usual thug self but couldn’t muster the strength to bite. He sighed deeply and pulled on his cigarette. They both stayed on the stairs for a while, contemplating. Enjoying each other’s silent presence.

“You two are working so well together,” Lip broke the silence. “You’ll get through this and are gonna be good parents for that kid, like you are for Yev.”

“I don’t know, Man, I can’t put Ian through that. Not again!” Lip inhaled smoke from his cigarette and looked out, down the street.

“Tami’s leaving.” Statement.

“Shit, sorry man!” Mickey looked at him for a while, pulled one more time on the stick in his hand, before throwing it over the fence as he exhaled the smoke. “Gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, I guess. She moved back to her parents and I’m keeping Freddy while she settles.”

“You come here with the kid, he can stay with Darren and you can sleep on the couch.”

“No man, I’m good. Thanks, but…”

“Wasn’t asking.” Mickey’s tone confirmed the statement. Lip was used by now with Mick’s special way to show his affection, so his heart actually warmed up at his friend’s reaction. He smiled.

“Thanks.” Mickey looked at him for a second before realising there was too much feeling for his own liking right now.

“Whatever, man. Gonna need someone to look after the kids while I look for Ian, and Debbie’s working late. That’s just convenient.” Lip looked at him and smiled.

“Know where to look?”

“Know exactly where to look.”

“Know what to do about the kid?”

Mickey huffed.

“Mick, you can’t let your kid out in the world thinking she wasn’t wanted!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo? Wha' d'y a think?
> 
> Tiny bit of information for this chapter: I, initially had not planed to include Carl in this chapter, but in my head, he's a f*** cool uncle. So here he is!
> 
> Hope you bear with me for the whole Bernie thing. I think she's gonna be a nice addition to the household. Let's wait and see ^^


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 years after Yevgeny came back into their lives, the Milkovich/Gallagher household has settled into a domestic life. Shit comes up, because you know... tough luck! But they manage and they are happy!
> 
> They don't need anything more, but life is sending them a gift... up to them to decide to accept it
> 
> Direct continuation of Babe and Blyad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, here Chapter 4, we'll know how Ian is feeling about this whole Bernie thing ;-)
> 
> Hope you enjoy, next chapter mid-October
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I really liked writing this chapter, hope you enjoyed it as much! Comments and kudos always appreciated😊😊😊
> 
> Also, please read end of chapter notes.

Mickey didn’t know exactly where his husband was, but he knew there could only be two possibilities. So, he picked one up and hoped to be lucky. He climbed the dilapidated stairs of the abandoned building, wondering how this ramshackle eyesore was still up. He had so many memories in this place, some good, some bad, some terrible, some amazing. As it was becoming quite obvious Ian wasn’t there, he let his mind wander.

“Will you at least look at me?” He couldn’t that day. He couldn’t look at him. Not with the shame. Not with the anger. Not with reality hitting him that morning in the form of a pregnant Russian whore demanding keeping.

“Feelin’ better now!” He threw the bottle away. He didn’t know back then. He didn’t know any other way to keep Ian safe, to keep him from hurting than brutally push him away.

“You love me!” Of course, he did. Of course! If only Ian knew. One day he’d tell him, maybe. One day he’d tell how he had wanted to say it that night they spent together, but he chickened out. He would have tried again in the morning, if not for his father. If not for their damn fate.

Lost in his thought, he reached the dugout pretty fast. And sure enough, Ian was there, lying on the low wall, legs crossed at the shin, hands flat on his belly, a lit cigarette hanging low on the right-hand side of his mouth. Mickey moved stealthily, sitting right next to his husband’s head, and delicately put a hand on his chest, stroking over the green wife beater right on the spot of his chest tattoo.

“You’re not surprised to see me.” Statement.

“Were you surprised to find me here?”

“No.” Ian shrugged knowingly.

“I looked at the other place first.” Mickey snatched the cigarette from the other man’s mouth and pulled on it. Somewhat relieved when he exhaled the smoke.

“I hesitated. I have better memories here.” They both huffed a smile not noticing the symmetrical reaction, nor its cuteness.

“You know I made a vow when we go married.” Ian shrugged, and put his left hand on top of Mickey’s on his chest, stroking absentmindedly at the ring there.

“Yeah, I know, me too.”

“Another one, Ian. Just to myself.” He put the cigarette back into the redhead’s mouth. Ian looked up at him from his position, tilting his head slightly to avoid hurting his neck.

“I vowed to myself that you’d get everything you wanted… no matter what… everything you deserved. You know… you first, and the rest of the world can fuck off.” Ian kept looking at him but didn’t say a word. Mickey had opened-up so much in the last two years, it was impressive. Ian still had moments of surprise when his husband would take his hand while walking in the street. Sometimes Ian forgot how Mickey could obsess over things. Since he had taken his hand for the first time when they were going to the Alibi. Mickey would throw tantrums if they didn’t hold hand from the moment, they were stepping outside their house.

His latest obsession was cornflowers. He had apparently read somewhere that cornflowers could help with stress. Ian had found a cornflower every day for the last month. On his pillow, on their bedroom door, by his breakfast plate. It was cute. No one was even trying to hide how cute they found these little romantic acts and Mickey didn’t seem to care much about the comments and exclamations. Plus, Debbie was showing Franny how to make pot-pourri.

But his husband was a doer, not a talker.

And, despite his progress, Mickey still wasn’t good with expressing his feelings. Words were coming out harsh. Ian knew how to read through those and really didn’t mind. So, yeah, Mickey telling him something that personal. That meaningful was a big thing. And Ian wasn’t going to do anything that ‘d send him back into his shell.

“I messed up. I let my personal problems come before you and because of me you had all these episodes. I’m sorry. I really am, Ian. We’ll have to look after Bernie for a while, but I thought maybe I’d ask Mandy to take her in. She’s my kid you know, I can’t send her back to social services…” He kept rambling on, but Ian wasn’t listening anymore.

Bernie.

Their daughter’s name was Bernie. Ian liked it. Bernie Bertolucci-Gallagher. He thought she should keep her mother’s name, to remember her by.

“You’re an idiot, Mick.” Definite statement definite. Mickey stopped half sentence to look at Ian eyebrow raised. Ian sat up, moved closer to his husband and kissed him on the cheek.

“Those rings on our fingers make me happy. You make me happy.” Another kiss, closer to the mouth. “Our TWO kidZZ make me fucking happy.” Kiss on the mouth, sweet and slow, Mickey melted into it. Ian reluctantly broke the kiss, he had more to say, more his husband had to hear. “My episodes are due to my fucking illness, I understand that now, and you should too. If I didn’t have you, I’d still have my episodes, but I wouldn’t have you to look after me, to love me. I’d be fucking screwed.”

Mickey sighed, realising he had completely forgotten the cigarette in his hand. “You seemed upset with the Bernie thing and all, I thought I messed up.”

“You didn’t, my love, you didn’t. It just was a lot to take in at once, and my meds ain’t completely settled yet.”

“Say it again,” Mickey whispered.

“What?”

“C’mon babe, you know what.” Blue eyes met green, for just a second before Ian leaned into another kiss. “My love,” kiss on the lips. “My love,” kiss on the nose, “My love,” kiss on the forehead. Mickey sighed and rested his forehead against Ian’s lips.

“Just don’t say it in front of the others, they’re still on my back for the flowers, they don’t need more fuel.” Ian chuckled at the comment. Then he sighed. He needed to say something to Mickey, get it off his chest. Not that Mickey needed to hear. But he needed to tell.

“There’s something else, Mick. I don’t think you’ll understand but I need you to know.”

“Come on, you know you can tell me, babe.”

“I,” Ian sighed deeply. “I think, maybe I was a little jealous I’m not the father.”

“Ok.” Mickey was clearly taking the information in. “You mean like having another kid that’s yours? We can do that, Ian, we can!” Mickey frowned. “You wanna fuck a chick?!”

Ian laughed. “No, God, no!”

“We can have like a surrogate or whatever.” Mickey was on a mission. Ian wanted something and Ian shall have it.

“Not like that Mick. Look, I know it’s ridiculous and impossible and stupid, but I just can’t help it. I just think, the two of us, together, we’d create perfection, you know. And I feel cheated that we can’t.” Mickey was now looking intently at Ian.

“I… I… I know it’s stupid to think that way. But I don’t know, it kinda hit me when I saw Bernie and how much she looked like you, that we’ll never have a kid that looks like the two of us. And, please Mick, don’t laugh at me, I just needed you to know.”

“I get it. I actually fucking get it.” He grabbed his husband’s face with his hands. “But we have two great kids that we must do well by. They’re gonna be our perfect job, alright! We gonna give them all the shit we didn’t get. They gonna have a fucking good life away from shitty southside and all we had to deal with. And that’s gonna be just because of us. You and me, babe!” They kept silent for a while, just looking at each other. When Ian smiled, Mickey knew things were going to be OK.

They made their way back to the house. As they were walking hand in hand down the street, Mickey chuckled.

“You’re the one that’s gonna be lookin’ after Bernie’s hair, man. That thing’s a fucking mess. And I ain’t doing no fuckin’ hair do!”

*

Debbie came home exhausted. But a good exhaustion, the one that comes with hard work. The one that makes you sleep at night. She loved her job. She loved her team, just girls, and they were doing a fucking good job. It took her a while to get it through her asshole of a boss that they deserved to be paid as much as the guys. She had complained about it for months. Not that her family had listened much. At the time, with Yev settling in and life in general, they had other things to think of. She was quite surprised when she walked into work one morning to find a notice in her locker. Not only did the whole team have a raise to meet the male’s wages but she also had a consequent bonus that came at the perfect time what with Darren and all. Her boss had been nowhere to be seen for a couple of weeks. But, that same evening, the bruises on Mickey’s knuckles told her all she needed to know. She didn’t say anything, she knew he didn’t want her to. She liked her brother in law, always had. She knew before anyone how good he was for her brother. Knew the real Mickey beneath the shell. The one she could speak to like no one would dare to. So, she knew what he did, he knew she knew and that was that.

When Debbie came in, there was a bit of a chaos. Not the first time, not the last either. It however was odd when Mickey was in charge, which was normally the case tonight. Another thing she wouldn’t say out loud for fear of scaring the emotionally impaired man is that he really fucking stepped up big time. It came little by little but, when looking at it now, it was absolutely obvious, Mickey was head of the family. And it was perfectly fine with her.

Not only that but it became pretty clear, pretty fast that he was a natural parent. Who would have fucking thought Mickey Milkovich was a good dad, and a good uncle? No one here for sure (Well maybe Ian) but there he was, able to manage five kids of various age, Ian unpredictable illness, a successful company and all of that in a relative organised fashion. Well, not relatively organised, more like fucking well organised like a north side family or some shit. When it was Mickey’s turn to look after the kids, you could be sure that when Debbie came back home after her shift, all kids were washed, homework done, and the younger ones were fed. And the house didn’t look like a battlefield. The only other person that would have managed that was Fi. And that, in Debbie’s book was a pretty good compliment.

The funniest thing of all was that even though this dynamic was obvious to everyone, it actually wasn’t for Mickey. He would still tell Debbie when the tiniest thing happened, ask her to make decisions he ultimately would make himself without realising. He was still reacting like he was doing this one-time favour, even though Debbie had been scared for a while that Darren would start calling him and Ian Papa and Daddy. It was sort of endearing, really. And Mickey and Lip, working together to find the father of her child. Well that was fucking heart-warming.

So, yeah, when Debbie came in, and the house was an absolute mess, she knew that something had happened today.

When she walked in the living room, she immediately spotted Fred and Darren in the office that Mickey was using again, home working while Ian was recovering. She hurried over there hoping the kids didn’t mess up important stuff. She took a pen out of Darren’s hand right when he was about to draw a “cozbenie” (whatever the fuck that was) on a document that resembled a signed contract. She sighed loudly and wished out loud Mickey would be as organised with his paperwork as he was with the household. The two little devils must have escaped from their playpen again. They were doing that lately. For that reason, Mickey and Ian had decided to not put them in there anymore and just keep them close and keep an eye on them. The rest of the Gallaghers had laughed at them for complicating their life for no reason. But then Ian had said something about not keeping them imprisoned, and no one laughed anymore. That thought reminded her how lucky she was to not have done hard time a few years earlier. A shiver crossed her back thinking of all she could have lost. Franny and Darren above all things.

The kids had escaped from the playpen, meaning that Ian wasn’t there either. She put the two toddlers back in there and made her way to the kitchen

The kitchen was nothing short of apocalyptic. Liam and Yev were busy baking (now?) and Fran was seated at the table trying to tame the hair of a brunette girl about her age, and not doing a very good job at it. Although, given the nature of the hair, no one would do a very good job at it.

“Hey, Franny, darling, you need to tell mommy or someone when you’re inviting a friend over, alright?” She dropped her backpack at the bottom of the stairs and scooted over to the table to plant a kiss on her daughter’s head before she turned to her brother for explanations.

“What’s happening here, Liam?”

The boy didn’t raise his head from the scale counter, ready to stop Yevgeny when he’d added the correct amount of sugar for the glazing, they planned to put on the cupcakes they were baking.

“We’re making cupcakes for Bernie, it’ her birthday today.”

“Who the fuck is Bernie?!”

“Mickey’s kid that he had with a prison guard. She’s staying in Franny’s room. And Fred is staying with Darren because Tami left Lip, so he is staying on the couch. Stop!” He caught Yev’s wrist with his hand, effectively succeeding in spilling a fair amount of sugar on the counter.

Yev looked up to see Debbie’s astonished expression. Too much information, too fast. She turned around and looked at the kid obviously fighting to keep her head straight as the little redhead pulled forcefully on a strand. She took a long look at the girl. Blue eyes, dark hair and resolved, take-no-shit look. So, yeah, OK, she was a Milkovich alright. But she was still missing some key information.

“Where the fuck is everyone?”

“Ok, now we add the vitamin B and that will make the cakes glow in the dark, you’ll see!” Liam wasn’t listening to her anymore, occupied at mixing the orange powder made from Ian’s vitamin B tablets. But Yevgeny was.

“Daddy is looking for Papa because he ran away when Bernie arrived. Uncle Lip is out grocery shopping and Uncle Carl had an emergency with a drug bust. He said we were in charge. So, we decided to make cupcakes for Bernie’s birthday.” He said all the while helping Liam to put the bright orange mixture in a pouch.

Debbie sat down, too much, just too much. And obviously, Carl had made the most Gallagher move on their playbook, leaving the kids in charge of the next in line.

“Ok,” she said turning to Bernie. “Hi, Bernie, I’m you’re Auntie Debbie, I’m Franny’s mommy.” She smiled genuinely and the little girl looked at her straight in the eye. Her gaze was a little unsettling. For a second there Debbie was reminded of Ig.

“I heard it’s your birthday, today. Happy birthday!” The kid smiled shily.

“What do you say you and Franny take a shower and get dressed in a nice dress for your birthday?”

“I don’t have a nice dress,” she said matter-of-factly

“Franny can lend you one, right darling?” Franny nodded vigorously and Debbie secretly enjoyed that her daughter got to finally have a cousin her age.

“Ok, let’s get you showered.” She held her hand out for the little girl but was still surprised when she grabbed it.

*

“We’re on it!” Liam shouted when Debbie asked him to take care of dinner, she chose not to discuss it further. Whatever the two boys decided to make would be alright for tonight. She had showered the girls and let them get dressed, hoping Bernie was as independent as Franny was when it came to getting dressed. She had then proceeded at getting the two toddlers into their night clothes, opting for a quick wash over a bath, not the day to be thorough.

Debbie came down the stairs to the kitchen with Darren in her left arm and Freddy’s hand in her right’s, keeping the toddler from hurtling down the stairs. She was relieved when she saw her brother was back from grocery shopping and was ‘helping’ the two boys making dinner. When she spotted her daughter and niece setting up the table, she couldn’t help but chuckle. Franny had taken the ‘nice dress’ statement a tiny bit too seriously as she was proudly wearing her dress from V and Kev wedding while she had lent her cousin her flower girl dress from Ian and Mickey’s. They looked the cutest, and oddly over dressed in the middle of the chaos that was the Gallagher kitchen tonight.

Debbie made a beeline to the playpen to drop the two toddlers so she could come back to the kitchen and speak to her brother about… well about everything that happened today, really.

Frank was very inelegantly making his way through the living room window when Debbie spotted him.

“Get the fuck out Frank.” Her tone was strong but detached, she hadn’t felt anything for a while when it came to her father. Like every southside kid, she had learned the hard way that family is what you make of it. And she knew now that her family did not include her father anymore. She was fine with it, she had other people to look up to. She had two older brothers that were overcoming their demons every day for the sake of their family. She had a brother in law who stepped up when they needed it with no other obligation than his love for one of them. She had a sister that had made it out of the southside and had actually made a name for herself over there. Hell, even her younger brother had not turned out to be the drug dealing thug everyone thought he would. So, Frank could fuck off, they were doing fine despite of him. No, they were doing great!

“This is still my house even though my ungrateful children and those thugs Milkovich are trying to steal it from me!” He was slurring and drunkenly trudging his way to her daughter, body leaning forward, hands and arms gesticulating, banging on furniture, and knocking down a lamp as he reached the woman her younger daughter had become.

“Back off Frank!”

“Or what?” He giggled loudly. But before the redhead could react, the old man grabbed her son from her hands, eliciting a chain reaction. Debbie screamed, Darren cried, and Fred ran back screaming to his father.

Debbie tried to reach for her son, but Frank turned around downright laughing now as he was holding the crying kid to his chest.

“Naha! He’s my grandson, and I need to instil some Irish way into him, can’t have all that Russian Milkovich crap surrounding him no more!” Everyone had come to the living room, trying to catch Darren, but Frank had a good grip on him, not even realising his hold was tight enough to leave fingerprints marks on the sobbing toddler’s arms. Debbie defeatedly dropped on the couch while Lip was shouting and running after his father almost catching him a few times, but Frank was a fucking eel, now showing them the finger while laughing from the threshold of the kitchen.

And suddenly everything stilled.

Frank was held up the frame of the open passage to the kitchen, a hand fisting his shirt collar right up under his chin, making it suddenly hard for him to breathe. His tip toes barely touching the floor. Lip grabbed Darren merely seconds before another fist came crashing on Frank’s right cheek. The bone crushing noise sent shivers up every one’s spine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? 
> 
> A few notes:  
> 1/ You can actually have glowing toping by adding vitamin. Should only be done by professionals though.  
> 2/ Ooooh, it looks like Ian and Mickey might get another addition to the family. One that would be coming from Ian, maybe?!  
> 3/ So, who do you think punched Frank?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 years after Yevgeny came back into their lives, the Milkovich/Gallagher household has settled into a domestic life. Shit comes up, because you know... tough luck! But they manage and they are happy!
> 
> They don't need anything more, but life is sending them a gift... up to them to decide to accept it
> 
> Direct continuation of Babe and Blyad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> Here is chapter 5, hope you enjoy it^^
> 
> Let's see who was beating the shit out of Frank!!!
> 
> Please read end of chapter notes!  
> Please leave Kuddos and comments, I'm high on them, need my fix 😁
> 
> Next update end of October

Another fist came crashing on the nose this time, sending droplets of blood on the wall, and another and another, effectively knocking Frank out. He was now only held stood up by the hand still fisting his shirt, holding so strongly that his neck was red.

Yet another punch was thrown until tattooed hands came grabbing the wrist mid-air.

“Enough Ig!” Mickey pushed his brother strongly enough that he let go of the hold he had on the old drunk who slid down the wall into a disgusting heap of blood, sweat, and what appeared to be urine.

Iggy gathered himself and reach Frank before Mickey could react, shaking him harshly until the older Gallagher came to.

“You come near my son again, there won’t even be a body part to find, motherfucker!” He prepared to hit him again when his younger brother grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and pulled him back until he hit one of the chairs of the living room table.

“Come on Ig, go meet your son.” As the two Milkoviches were otherwise occupied, a still foggy Frank tried to appeal to Ian, who was trying to assess his injuries.

“Son, you gonna let a fucking commie threaten your father? Your blood?”

“He gonna die?” Mickey asked matter-of-factly, the tone eliciting a smile from his husband.

“Nope.”

“Alright let’s take out the trash, then,” Lip said as he dropped Fred in Liam’s arms. The three men grabbed the bloody and now screaming heap from the floor, Lip and Ian on the legs and Mickey the arms. Their obvious lack of care was not lost on Frank as he hit the floor and any piece of furniture on the way to the kitchen door.

“You, fuckin’ Russian are gonna pay for stealing my family! I’ll call immigration on you! Fuckin’ cold war all over again, shouda sent a bomb on you instead a sendin’ a man on the fuckin’ moon!”

“We’re Ukrainian, Frank.” Mickey was actually smiling at Frank’s outburst. The door had been left open by Iggy when he came earlier. They were about to exit when Debbie called them. She walked to them decidedly with Franny on her tail and Darren in her arms. She leaned over her father and looked him in the eyes.

“You’re not welcome here anymore, Frank. You’re not part of this family anymore. We’re making it, here, we’re making something of ourselves and we’re providing for our kids!” She hit him in the chest with her pointed finger, hard enough to extract a harsh sigh out of him.

“You are NOT going to ruin what we built, Frank! Understand?” Frank chuckled. The feisty redhead grabbed his bloody broken nose with her index and middle finger and twisted it. Frank screamed in pain, the three men still holding him hissed.

“Understand?” She was calm, steady, scary. Even Frank could see that. He nodded his understanding. But that wasn’t enough for Debbie, she knew her father and how much his words meant.

“Say it!” She twisted her fingers again.

“Aaah! Yeah, yeah ok! I won’t come anymore!”

“Not enough, Frank! I want to hear it!”

“Debs!” She looked up at Ian, her look piercing through green eyes. He understood and rolled them, shutting up. She turned back to her father, twisting his broken nose between her fingers again.

“Aaaaah! Alright, fuck! What d’you want to hear, I’ll say it! Dammit!”

“You know what I want to hear Frank.”

“Fuck you!” She pulled on the broken appendicle.

“Aaaahhh! Ok, ok! Fuck!” Frank took a deep breath and tried looking at his daughter with imploring eyes, but nothing from him would go through to her anymore, that much he realised right there and then. So, he said it. He said what she wanted to hear. Somehow in his twisted drunken mind he knew he owed that to her.

The words came as mumbles, but they came, and that’s all Debbie wanted.

“’M not part o’ this fukin’ family anymore. Happy?” He looked at his daughter. No, she wasn’t happy, how could she be? But she heard what she wanted to hear, no reason to keep him there any longer, she released her hold on the man and gave a quick nod at the men holding him who resumed their endeavour and exited the room to take out the trash as Lip put it. They carried him down the stairs and out the gate, dropping him with no qualm on the pavement.

They could have said something, but after Debbie had spoken, none of them had the stomach to do so.

As the back door to the house closed on Frank’s winnings, Carl arrived for dinner. He wasn’t fazed by the view of his father bloody in the gutter.; Not the first time. Hopefully the last time in front of the house. He simply climbed over him to get passed the gate absentmindedly avoiding Frank’s hand trying to grab at is ankle.

“Son! Don’t leave your father dying in the gutter!”

“Pretty sure you deserve it, Frank!”

When he entered the House, Carl, somehow, got a glimpse of what Frank had done to deserve the gutter. The atmosphere was heavy. Iggy and Debbie where hugging, an obviously distraught Darren hanging on his mother’s hip, rubbing his red eyes. Ok, so, Iggy was back! Guess that was a good thing.

Freddy was snuggling his father’s neck while the later was pressing Liam and Yevgeny to finalise dinner so they could move on from the horrendous earlier event. The two brothers exchanged a heavy look. No need for more to understand that Frank had messed up again. Carl sighed and just jumped a little bit when tiny hands grabbed his thigh. Bernie had escaped her father’s hold. He caught her and as soon as she was up in his arms, she hugged him. She had obviously met Frank. He held her tighter.

Carl wasn’t the kind of person to understand much about feelings. You’d have to pretty much tell him how you feel for him to understand how you feel. But the look on Mickey’s face, there was no mistaking. It was sadness. Sadness that his daughter would choose to run into Carl’s arms when he was actually trying to comfort her. He understood she wasn’t comfortable with him, the poor thing had just arrived, just met him and also, very unfortunately met Frank. But then again, she had just met Carl too.

“Bernie, come here, darling!” So, turns out Ian had picked up on Mickey’s sadness too.

“’T’s alright babe, let her do. After what Frank pulled tonight, if she feels better with Carl, she should stay with him.” Carl looked at them speak for a while before deciding that there was a solution that would suit everyone. He swiftly moved to the stairs were Ian and Mickey were whispering to each other, smiling, touching hands and faces, apparently close to kiss. Well too bad. Carl swooped in, separated the two men with his foot and decidedly planted his ass down in between the two baffled men. Mickey gestured his anger, hands flying in the air and about to mouth his discontentment à la Mickey when he understood what the younger man was doing. Carl shoved Ian out of the stairs and sat the kid between him and mickey. They exchanged a look, nothing else, a look that said ‘thank you’ for one and ‘don’t mention it’ for the other. The two men were more alike than they knew. The kid calmed down and settled in between them, leaning on Mickey who sighed in relief, breath stuttering faintly. Not faintly enough for Ian who was an expert on all things Mickey and obviously picked up on that. He dropped a comforting hand on is shoulder. Mickey’s eyes met his husband’s and got lost for a second in the love dripping gaze Ian gave him. That gaze that scared him so much before and that he’s been craving so much at the same time. That gaze that often came with such a loving smile that it made his insides churn and his head turn. And the smile was there. And Bernie had just taken his hand in hers. And that was just too much.

“Food fuckin’ ready yet?”

Dinner went so much better than the beginning of the evening. Mood was light, dinner was quite ok for something mostly prepared by two teenagers in between culinary experiments; and Bernie seemed fully relaxed by now, even jumped on Ian’s laps when her birthday cakes arrived. The happy birthday singing soon replaced by cheers and exclamations when Liam turned off the lights and the cupcakes glowed a bright green light.

Mickey took Bernie and Franny to bed. He would not admit, even under torture, that he read a story to the girls and stayed there for a while watching them drift into sleep. He would not admit it, even when Franny, the big mouth that she was, would request another story from Uncle Mickey the next night.

Back downstairs, Mickey sat down on Ian’s lap. It surprised everyone, even Ian as when this happened, which was not often, it was the other way around. So, Mickey didn’t usually demonstrate feelings in such obvious ways, so what? He fucking needed it and he didn’t care what they all thought. As a matter of fact, they didn’t think much of it, once initial surprise fainted away, conversation simply resumed.

Past 11:30, Liam and Yev indicated they were going to bed, it being a school night and all. As they made their way up the stairs, Mickey called them back.

“Guys, where did you find the vitamin B you used for the cakes?” No answer. “It was Ian’s medication?” The two boys shyly nodded. Mickey breathed quietly, nostrils vibrating, moved awkwardly on Ian’s lap and took a sip at his beer.

“’K, it was nice to prepare cakes for Bernie, she told me she really liked it. But you touch Ian’s med again and I fuck you up. Understood?”

*

Not that oddly at all, Mickey didn’t sleep well that night. Him and Ian had cuddled and kissed and fell into sleep. He had needed it. His husband’s strong arms enveloping him. And he was ok to admit it. Well, just to himself, but still. Also, he knew Ian had picked up on that already, given that he had not said a word when he came to bed, and only wrapped his arms tightly around his waist, gently kissing and sweet nothings whispering him to sleep. Until he woke up at 2am, thirsty and craving a ciggy. He reluctantly left the warmth of his husband’s body and didn’t bother to wear more than his boxers as he exited the room.

He quickly glanced in the girls’ room to find both of them fast asleep and did the same in the boys’ room for good measure. He climbed down the stairs without turning on the lights. No need, Mickey’d climbed down these stairs thousands of times. The faint luminescence from the TV also helped for the last couples of stairs down. Looked like Lip couldn’t sleep either.

Mickey grabbed a beer and a Mountain Dew and got to the living room in two strides. He nonchalantly dropped on the couch and handed the Mountain Dew to his very awake brother in law. Lip smiled at him and grabbed the can, nodding when the dark-haired man held two cigarettes to his face.

“Back stairs though, Debs and Ig are still talking shit through, out front.” Mickey groaned but followed suit when the blond made his way through the rooms to the back door, grabbing the lighter on the kitchen table on the way.

^^

Debbie wanted to lean on Iggy’s chest, drop her ear on his chest and listen to his heartbeat, just like before. That was very likely the reason she chose him over Sandy, the steady heartbeat, the sense of protection. And yes, maybe Sandy dumped her; but over the last two years, Debbie had time to think and she realised that she was gone for Ig before things went down in flames with Sandy. She felt bad about it. Felt bad she kept running after Sandy even though she was with Iggy. Felt bad she put these two people she loved through shit. And felt bad right now that Iggy had been pushed to come back by obligation toward his son. Maybe that meant she had matured enough to accept that her actions should not bear consequences for others. She wanted Iggy to be with her, she wanted them to be a fucking poster family, with garden gnomes and all the shit. But she had matured enough to not force it on him if he didn’t want it. So, she didn’t lean on him. Instead she sat down on the stairs and patiently waited for the father of her son to start speaking.

Iggy lit a cigarette and looked at Debbie. She was nervous. He was too even if it might not seem obvious. He had cultivated his laidback façade for years, a necessary protection where he came from. If people think you don’t give a shit about anything, they are less likely to try to fuck you over. But he cared. He cared about his siblings. He cared about his son, and about this fucking warrior of a woman now seated on those stairs, who pushed him to believe he was worth something.

“You’re not the reason I left.” He thought he owed her to make that clear from the start. Debbie nodded.

“The kid’s fucking cute!” Iggy chuckled, a cigarette hanging low on the left side of his parted lips. He shook his head slightly. Debbie had seen Mickey do that before, family traits, she thought amused.

“My usual shitty move, huh! I do one thing good in my life and I fuck off before I can see him!” More chuckles. Bitter ones. Iggy Milkovich never did anything correctly. He was fucked for life. Like all Milkoviches were. Mickey might have given him a false sense of hope because he’d found happiness. So, Iggy got cocky. He thought he could be happy too. And then it happened. Terry died, and with him, Iggy’s illusions that he was alright. He wasn’t alright, he was fucked to the core. Terry had fucked his soul to a level he only discovered two years ago.

Iggy remembered his childhood, the chaos, the dirt and the pain. But that night, when they learned Terry had passed, other memories came to his mind, memories he had lost for so long. The sweetness of his mother’s skin when he kissed her on the cheek. The laughter with his brothers. The tiny but strong little fingers of his baby sister around his thumb. Happy memories. Very few, but so intense.

He looked back at what he had become, the hatred that surrounded him. He was seated on the stairs that fucking night, he could feel his brother pacing, could hear him shouting on the phone. And it hit him. He loved Mickey. But he hated him. He was continually conflicted between loving a brother that he respected and trusted, and hating a man that was gay. That was how Terry fucked him up. Sneakily. With no apparent wound. Just the incapacity to fully love the people he loved. And it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair that he could never let go of this hatred that consumed him from the inside. He hadn’t known before, but when he realised it, he felt sick to his stomach.

He couldn’t stay there, he needed to go away, far, where no one knew him. Where he could rebuild himself from the ground up. And he had. Slowly. Painfully. Not completely but enough to be happy with the person he had become. The person he had always been deep down, the person he had just uncovered. He wasn’t perfect, he was still this drug dealing thug, he still had violence in him. But not only, he had love too, love and acceptance. For his brother and who he truly was for instance. Turns out he really couldn’t give two fucks about Mickey’s homosexuality. That remanence of Terry had gone, and with it this insidious hold his father had had on him. He had freed himself from Terry. Just like Mickey did when he came out that night. Just like Mandy did when she held her father at gunpoint and made him admit what he did. He was still a construction site, though; still a mess inside, but he was getting there. And soon, very soon he would even be a good human being. And maybe even a good father. He hoped he would, because he already loved that rug rat he’d just met a few hours ago.

Debbie had not said a word as the man in front of her spilled his gut like he surely had never done before, she had not even moved. She just let him talk. He needed it, and she knew she needed it too.

“I know I don’t have any right to ask you that, but I really want to be in Darren’s life.” Silence. Their gazes met for a split second. “And in yours, and Franny’s.” Iggy felt shy suddenly, exposed. He wanted Debbie to reply but at the same time he didn’t want to hear the answer.

Debbie didn’t reply with words. She got up, slowly and walked toward the blue-eyed blond man that just so honestly opened himself to her. She leaned on him, delicately dropping her head on his chest, and listened to his heartbeat. Her own heart skipped a beat when she felt his hands enveloping her tiny frame.

“We can take it slowly; I’ll go back home for now. And then we can decide. When we figure out what this is between us, we can decide, ok?”

“Yeah, sure, yeah!” Debbie agreed, but truth was she never wanted to leave these arms again.

“You make me feel good about myself, Debs” Her breath caught at the words. “Thanks.”

At that moment exactly, Debbie knew. She knew they wouldn’t take it slowly. She knew Iggy would be a good father to Darren, and a good father to Franny too. She knew it. She wanted it all right now and then, but as the mature woman she was now, she wouldn’t push it.

Well she didn’t need to push anything; it would happen soon enough.

*

Mickey pushed the mouldy entrance door to the Alibi room somewhat violently; he took a quick glance at the room to find the usual patrons drinking their day away. The bar tender Kev hired was cleaning the counter. Mickey chuckled at the rarity of the task in the damp. The Alibi was losing money, that much Mickey knew. But Kev and V seemed to want to keep it. Sentimental reasons Mickey thought. Not that he cared much, but right in that instant he was happy that the Alibi was still there.

The brunette dropped himself on the closest bench, knocking his tattooed knuckles on the table to get Rob’s attention. The man behind the counter got the gesture loud and clear, he poured a pint and brought it to Mickey, catching Kermit’s attention.

“Hey, Mickey! How things going with the family?”

“Not your fucking business Kermit!”

Things were good actually. They’d all settled down nicely. But Mickey still needed time alone, hence him being at the Alibi at 3 in the afternoon. Well, no, to be absolutely, completely, utterly honest, he and Ian needed time alone. Ian had adjusted to his meds and had gone back to work, it wasn’t going amazingly well and Mickey was doing his best to let Ian make his own decision there, but he was dying on the inside to see his husband fight everyday against his illness, and now as it turned out, his asshole colleagues too. They kept making stupid comments since Ian’s last manic episode. The thing was that Mickey was terrified that it would send Ian into a depressive state, and he did his best to hide it as Ian needed support on this rather than nagging. But Damn, that was hard.

And their sex life was different too. Not bad he guessed but different. It didn’t happen that often on account of them being exhausted in the evening with work and the kids and shit. And they were not fucking anymore in the day, because it needed too much organisation. There was no more spontaneity. There was still love, a shitload of it, and tenderness, and understanding, but no more quicky against the fridge while preparing dinner. No more spur of the moment blow job in a bar toilet stall.

They had a fucking family now and they had the sex life of settled parents. Mickey wasn’t sure what to think about it. All he new was that he needed to do something spontaneous. Be alone with Ian, naked, for an extensive amount of time, and not have to schedule it a month in advance.

Maybe he could book a hotel room for Saturday? Were they hotel room renting kind of guys? They could surely afford it, but would they feel comfortable?

Mickey was lost in his thoughts and didn’t see Kev and V barge in the bar, bee lining straight for his booth.

“Hey dude! Rob, beer and wine for the missus please.”

“The missus?! We’re old fucks now?” V clicked her tong and looked at Mickey.

“You alright, honey? You look like you have kids or something!” She laughed at her own joke. Mickey smiled too, thinking just for a split second how the same comment would have elicited a snarky annoyed comment from him a few years back. He was glad it didn’t happen anymore; he fucking liked the person he had become, even if it meant sex had to be pined weeks in advance on the family scheduler. Maybe.

“No V, I just don’t get it! You know what you sign for when you enrol in the Keg zone, injuries happen, that’s part of the game, why should I be responsible?” Kev’s whining brought Mickey back from his intense thinking. He chuckled at Kev’s complete lack of understanding of the very basic rules of trade. How the guy managed to run a successful business was beyond him.

“C’mon baby, you heard the lawyer, you need to get up to date with health and safety regulation, adapt your work outs and the asshole is Ok to drop the charges. It’s gonna be alright, just need to find someone that can help.” She soothingly rubbed the giant’ back. Mickey’s mind made the connections in a matter of seconds.

“I know someone.” He let it trail for a moment, for the information to sink in the two thick heads in front of him.

“And you’re lucky, he happens to be looking for a job. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Who? D’you know that guy well? I need to be able to trust him Mick, alright?! Oh God, it’s not one of your brothers or some shit, is it?!” V chuckled at Kev’s rambling.

“He’s speaking about Ian, Kev.” As usual, V pick up on things faster. Mickey thought that could be Ian’s chance to get out of his work. It would still be related to health somehow and would definitely help the poor bastards registered at Kev’s to stay alive.

“Ian? Oh yeah, fuck! That’d be perfect!” The shorter man smiled. Yes, it would most definitely be better than what he has now. But Ian would have to let go of his dream job. Change his life plan, once again, because of his bipolar. It hurt Mickey to think about that. He wanted his husband to have everything he wanted. But some things he simply couldn’t.

“Can you ask him?”

“No, and you won’t either. You just gonna whine about it in front of him, like you did with me. And you gonna hope he picks up on it, and you gonna hope he’s in the correct mind set to come work with you.” Mickey got up and before he turned toward the door, looked Kev straight in the eyes.

“And you gonna give him descent wages and a fucking good health insurance cover, huh?!” He left, not bothering to say goodbye, or pay for his beer for that matter.

“What the fuck he makes it all complicated for? I’m just gonna ask Ian.”

“No, you won’t Kev. He’s just being a good husband and letting Ian make his own decision.”

“Good husband? While meddling behind his back?”

“Sometimes people need a subtle push.” V said, getting up to go get herself another glass of wine.

“Subtle p…V!” Kevin followed suit.

“You never did that shit with me, right?”

“No.”

“V, come on! Fuck, when?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, will Ian propose his help to Kev? It breaks my heart that he career plans get smashed, but that's sometimes the reality of mental illness, right?
> 
> Question: D'you think Ian and Mickey are the "hotel get away" kind of guy? 😏😄 Let's find out in the next chapter!
> 
> Thanks for reading you guys!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 years after Yevgeny came back into their lives, the Milkovich/Gallagher household has settled into a domestic life. Shit comes up, because you know... tough luck! But they manage and they are happy!
> 
> They don't need anything more, but life is sending them a gift... up to them to decide to accept it
> 
> Direct continuation of Babe and Blyad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo! First of all, sorry for the delay, I have to admit I am in over my head wit work and (personal life warning) a move to another country where I don't speak the language. So I have some difficulties to write at the moment :-(  
> All that to say, it is likely next chapter will be a little late too, sorry folk!
> 
> Anyhow, little leap forward in this chapter, just a few weeks^^  
> Also, smut ahead, be warned!
> 
> Hope you like it! Please kudos and comment, I need the love :-D

Mickey / 7:19 – You sleepin’ at the house tonight and looking after the kids

Lil’ fuck / 7:25 – Why shouda?

Mickey / 7:27 – ‘Coz I’m asking and ‘coz maybe I won’t kill ya for messin’ the deal with the Russians. they don’ wanna use Lip’s software shit anymore, gonna have to get Svet involved now

Mickey / 7:27 – Assface

Lil’ fuck / 7:32 – Shit. ‘K, be there at 6. How long?

Mickey / 7:51 – Whole fuckin’ weekend fucker

Mickey climbed down the stairs satisfied. Carl was looking after Yev and Bernie for the weekend, the hotel was booked, and Ian was off. Everything seemed to go planned. And he was going to do his best to not jinx it. Carl wasn’t his first choice but the best he could do last minute. And Bernie liked him. Still, he might ask Liam to come spend the night, to be on the safe side.

He sat at the table just as Ian led a cup of coffee in front of him.

“Wanna tell me where we’re going?”

“Still no!” He looked at his husband with the brightest shit eating grin. Ian took the hint and stopped asking. The fact that Mickey planned a weekend away just the two of them was already mind blowing, he could keep quiet and try not to ruin the surprise for a few hours. The hardest would be to not try and guess what Mickey had organized, deep down he was excited like a fucking kid. And he figured that’d be the best time to tell Mickey about the decision he’d made too.

Ian returned to the stove to turn the French toasts over. He raised his head when he heard Bernie come down the stairs. She ran straight to her father, tossed her brush at him and jimmied herself backward between his legs. Mickey muffled a complaint as usual but still started brushing the wild dark mane. It was their little ritual, every morning for the last 2 months or so. And Mickey was complaining every morning, but Ian knew he liked it. He was getting better at it too, the do now actually resembled the ponytails or braids his husband was attempting. What Ian didn’t know was that the other man had had quite a few tutorials from Franny.

“Bernie, hun, you remember that papa and I are away this weekend, huh?” The girl nodded as she sat in front of her plate full of French toasts.

“Uncle Carl is comin’ over.”

“Cool!” She smiled. “Can Franny come too?”

“Sure, darling.” Ian planted a kiss on her forehead before he sat down next to her and smiled at Mickey while he started cutting her toasts into manageable pieces.

That evening, Carl came to the house on time, and with pizza. He was off to a good start!

Liam and Yevgeny jumped on the food and went back to the living room, because as Yev, very proudly said, they were busy with their movie. And he wasn’t the only one to be proud. Their little class project turned out to be more than that after all. They had been selected for some sort of program ran by the state to promote art in “unprivileged areas”. They all knew it was bullshit, but the winner would get a fat check, and that’s really all they needed to know. Apparently, their approach to the assignment through the changes brought by gentrification had grabbed the attention of some important assholes. Now the city was counting on them to make a good impression with their movie and gave them some money to do so. They had needed some editing software, Imovie was only good to a certain point. Also, some subtitling software because apparently, they needed to subtitle the video for deaf people. But none of the money they received went to that. Not when Lip could get ripped softwares for exactly $0. True, both were all in Russian, but Liam objected that would give Yev an opportunity to brush up on his knowledge of the language. Whatever, they didn’t pay for them and got to keep the money so all was good. And now they were fucking subtitling their school project for some Yuppy festival.

Everyone was proud of them and said as much and Mickey more than everyone. Which was quite out of character, given, to top it all that he was part of the video, not a big part, mind you, but still he was in there. So, it surprised everyone – even Ian – when he got all crazy and turned the Alibi into a cinema, forcing everyone there to watch the kid’s movie (which was great by the way). But then, Ian got to think. How far Mick was able go for him. How he went all in, in their relationship, or in their wedding. So, well, him turning into the ultimate front row-camcorder dad, might finally not be that far fetch. And when Tommy criticized the “political angle” of the documentary, Mickey showed his Milkovich side again and threatened to pull his teeth out one by one.

_***A few weeks before***_

_“Why the fuck do I have to do that again?”_

_“’Coz you grew up in the Milkovich house, gives you perspective to the worst of the south side.” Yevgeny had said factually, looking at his yellow pad. Real fucking professional, already._

_“Fuck you!”_

_“Mick, you can’t say that to a kid.” Ian said while helping Liam setting up the video camera._

_“I say whatever the fuck I want to whoever the fuck I want.” Both men looked at each other and smiled at the very Milkovich statement._

_“Fuck you!” Mickey’s reply was met by a middle finger form his husband and laughter from the two teenagers._

_Alright, so you just need to answer the questions._

_Mickey sat at the kitchen table and smiled at how the kids had carefully staged the scene. The coffee and cigarette smoke were setting the nice gloomy atmosphere, they said. Neither Ian nor his husband had had the heart to tell them that was just any morning set up in this house, minus toddlers crying._

_“So, can you introduce yourself?”_

_“Why the fuck should I do that?” The two boys looked at each other knowingly. They were actually counting on Mickey being his forever annoyed self to spice up the segment. And, well, he did not disappoint._

_“Ok, first question, what do you think is bad in the neighborhood?”_

_“Everything. Next question.” Ian’s chuckle elicited a smile from his husband. But the kids were not having it, they needed material._

_“Why didn’t you move then?”_

_“What?” Yev, looked his father in the eyes, forgetting for a second the movie and the ‘interview’. The question was real, they had the means to move to a better home, better neighborhood, but that was never even a discussion topic. When the house got too crowded, they just bought the ramshackle next door for Debbie and Iggy to move in. Mickey understood the question exactly for what it was and took some time to answer it right._

_“This is Ian’s childhood house. He feels good here and I feel good wherever he feels good.” The brunette seemed to think for a second, grabbed the cigarette burning away in the ashtray and dragged on it, just a little too long before he put it back._

_“Don’t put that shit I just said in, alright?” Both kids shook their heads. Mickey resumed._

_“It’s the place we know. We all grew up here, right? We know the people; we know the places. It’s a shithole but, I guess it’s our shithole. We know our way around it.” Mickey did his best to avoid Ian’s Love-sick puppy eyes._

_“But now with all these yuppies comin’ over, it’s all changed I guess.”_

_“Everything changes, Mick.” Ian had sat at the table too, on the same side of the camera as to not be in the frame._

_Mickey dismissed Ian’s comment with an exaggerated gesture because he got it. He got what his husband was saying. And he also got that some changes were good, some weren’t, and you had to deal with the hand you were given._

_“Look, at least here we know what bullshit we’re dealing with, I guess. The whole yoga studio shit’s pissing me off but guess it’s the way it is” He looked at the coffee mug for a while, undecided whether he wanted some or not. “Guess it’s up to us to decide what we ok with and what we gotta change.” He took a sip at the coffee and winced, realizing he needed more than that. As f he could read his mind (maybe he could), Ian got up and grabbed a beer from the fridge._

_“Thanks babe,” the former thug grabbed the bottle and opened it before realizing what the camera just captured. “Fuck.” He chuckled and slightly shook his hands but kept going, who cared how the fuck he called his husband after all._

_“Look, papa and I we’re doing all we can to make sure you don’t get raised in the same shit we went through. That’s the change we’re making.” He was looking at his son, trying to ignore Liam’s and Ian’s piercing gazes._

_“What shit exactly?” Right there, it downed on all three other Gallaghers in the room that while Yev didn’t have the poster picture childhood, he actually never lacked love. And apart from some expected outbursts mostly Frank’s fueled, he was stranger to violence too. Violence. Violence was the worst in their upbringing Mickey thought._

_“Violence, man, the violence was the worst.” This time, he ignored the slowly consuming cigarette in the ashtray and pulled his pack from his jeans pocket, expertly pocking until a single stick came out. He nonchalantly grabbed the lighter on the table and resumed speaking while lighting his cigarette._

_“In this neighborhood, violence is all that’s work. Violence and scam and theft and…” He genuinely laughed at his gloomy enumeration, eliciting chuckles from everyone else. Better to laugh about it, right?_

_“Ian and Liam, and the rest of the fuckin’ litter, they had to deal with neglect and drugs and shit. But they had Fiona, you know? In my shithole we had squat.” He chuckled humorlessly, not realizing he had everyone in the room hung on his words._

_“Well, scratch that, we had violence to rely on. That fuckin’ was the only thing that you knew was comin’ no matter what. Food, heatin’, clothes, all that shit, that was kinda luxury, but the hatred, it was there all the time. And the violence it was underlyin’, ya know. It was in the words, in the gestures…” He took another sip at his bear. He only just now realized he hadn’t looked at anything else but Ian’s hands laying flat on the table. It seemed it helped him focus. Helped him put in words the thoughts and emotions he had somewhat, and despite his will, decided to share with his son. And his husband. And Liam. And all the assholes that are going to watch that fucking movie. And scary enough for the emotionally shy man, he couldn’t bring himself to care or stop for that matter._

_“When you don’t know when the next blow’s comin’ you just get ready to expect it at any time. And it’s eatin’ at you, and it becomes you.” He looked at Ian’s fingers nervously scratching at the table. Got lost in the gesture for a moment, called back to reality by the heat of the cigarette butt burning at his fingers. He threw the consumed cigarette bottom in the ashtray and immediately picked another one out of his pack._

_“That’s the violence I’m speaking about. The one that’s inside you all the time. That’s the worst.” He kept quiet for a moment, looked at Ian and smiled. “It becomes you, how you communicate, how you love.” Ian smiled back at him. The memories came swirling in the ginger’s head, just like he knew they had come in Mickey’s head just moments ago. Those were not happy memories, but they were part of their history, an inherent part of what they’d become. And although none of them would ever admit it, the fact that they were reflecting on these together, as a married couple with two kids, was nothing short of a miracle._

_“I just got lucky I found someone that was worth getting rid of that shit inside of me for.” Ian smile grew bigger._

_“Don’t get all cocky, asshole, still a lot of fuckin’ work to clear my insides up!” Mickey laughed at his own crappy joke. And with that Yev turned the camera off. He had all he needed for the documentary, and more._

_***_

*

Ian opened the passenger door of the Hyundai grey SUV with the **MG Agency** logo on the side and immediately spotted the tiny box of chocolate wrapped in silver foil with a golden bow. Ian shook his head huffing a single chuckle. “Mick,” he whispered not able to stop a smile for splitting his face in two.

“Let’s go bitch!” Mickey startled him a little when he opened the door.

The two men settled in the car and started their journey. Ian turned on the radio, switching from stations to stations knowingly overlooking a few playing his type f jam until he found the one station he was looking for. He cranked up the sound and looked at Mickey smile enlightening the whole car.

“Classic rock, huh? You know I don’t mind listening to your shit.”

“Thanks for the chocolates!” Mickey looked sideways at his husband and showed his brightest smile.

“Yeah, thought it be a fuckin’ nice way to pave the path from my navel to my dick. You know, wouldn’t want you to get lost or some shit.”

The rest of the 2 hours ride was fairly quiet. They kept smiling at each other, like teenagers. Truth was they needed that little get away. The last few of months had been hectic. They had been speaking about their options as the house had started to get a little too crowded for their licking. Not that it had reach its maximum capacity, but the two me had realized they needed more quiet now. Parenthood and shit Mickey said.

They had discussed moving, but truth was, even Mickey was feeling good in that shithole they called home. And out of the blue, Lip had up come with perfect solutions. First, he decided to go back to his house with Fred. He had been grateful for the extended invitation. He’d appreciated being on the receiving hand of Mickey’s tough care. And if it wasn’t for his brother in law hiding all the bottles in the house and establishing an airtight no alcohol policy in the house, he might have let the shit he was going through get to him. But Tami had collected her shit and he had to get out of that bubble Ian and Mickey had created for him and reclaim his life. Well, to be honest, he had been relieved when Liam offered to move to his house with him, to help. Much to Yev dismay. But the kid understood, Liam’s brother needed him, and you look after your family, that’s what Gallaghers do.

Once settled back into his own house, Lip got to thinking about Debbie and Ig. And if he knew his sister enough, which he did, he knew it was a matter of time before she’d want to build a nest that’s hers. But it still needed to be close for babysitting purposes. This whole one-night shift was actually working pretty well. Plus, he thought, maybe Ig would most likely want to go back to work at one point. Whatever job Iggy was fit for. Lip laughed to himself thinking Debbie would never let him go back to drug dealing and gun trafficking. Looks like Iggy Milkovich would have to go honest and shit. Although there was no doubt in Lip’s mind that Mickey was already lining some moonlight jobs for his brother.

And then it clicked. It was so obvious he kicked himself for not thinking about it before. The house next door had not been occupied for years. For all he knew it still belonged to Jimmy-Steve. So, well, it was family heirloom. Lip made some researches and ran it by the rest of the family once he had confirmation that Jimmy-Steve was indeed still the owner of the abandoned house. The family meeting didn’t include the kids, they didn’t need to know the details. They had enough money to buy the house and they bought it, and that was it. No need for them to know that it would be much easier to forge a few documents than to locate the owner. Plus, they were not that interested in locating the owner given that their best chance to do so was through his dad. A very definitive “no fucking way” from Mickey closed that chapter. They forged the papers, invented an imaginary gift from a brother in law. Not that far fetch. And that was it, Debbie was the proud owner of the shithole next to her childhood shithole.

The music was playing quietly in the background, as Ian was looking outside the window. The southside gloomy décor had been replaced by nice houses and green gardens. And now they were driving through acres of green fields. It felt peaceful, restful. And Mickey delicately put his hand on his thigh. And Ian felt loved. The fuzzy feeling sank into his stomach, he took time to appreciate it, to enjoy it. He turned his head to face a very smiling Mickey.

“Fuck you lookin’ at?”

“Pretty sure that’s my line babe!” They laughed. And they kept looking at each other for as long as Mickey could keep his eyes of the road. Ian drowned in his husband’s smile just for a short moment just enough to remember how safe he was. How safe Mickey had made his environment. How safe he felt to be his true self, to show his failures. How easy it was to just speak, say whatever would be on his mind, no matter how crazy, how self-absorbed. There was no judgement from his other half. Not exactly. There was judgement, Mickey was human and, well… he was Mickey. That’s why Ian knew that more often than not Mickey had something to say. But he was supportive, letting him make his own decisions, his own mistakes and quietly helping to sort things out. Ian knew that being in that environment was one of the reason he could face his illness, look at fucking bipolar in the eyes everyday and say ‘fuck you, I’m living the life I deserve, exactly the life I want. Despite you.’

Just like he knew all that, Ian knew Mickey hadn’t be thrilled with his Fire brigade endeavor, but he said nothing, even helped him study and train. Supported him when the pressure menaced to start a new episode. No doubt he would be thrilled with the news.

“Quittin’ my job.” He said matter-of-factly.

“K,” Mickey smiled at him. A genuine smile, one that said nothing more than the singled letter he exerted.

“Kev needs someone to overlook the health and safety in his clubs and I sort of talked him into givin’ me the job.”

“Cool, man. Sounds good. Make sure he get good insurance though.”

“Yeah, that’s the thing. He gave me insurance names to pick one. Makes me think he kinda wanted to give me the job in the first place.”

“Well, then good, I guess.” Mickey tried to remain detached but inside he was tearing Kev a new one. And himself too, he should have known Kevin fucking Ball would not be up for the task. Well at least he came through for the insurance.

“Yeah, loads of work to do. Kev has no fucking idea what health and safety is. But I have some ideas already that we can implement. I might need a certification though to make it official and shit.” Mickey understood Ian’s thirst for certifications and diplomas. He had been all set to go to West point once or at least make it to a certified job of some sort if it hadn’t be for his fucking bipolar. And Mickey couldn’t help but think he had been the trigger of all that shit. He knew if it wasn’t him, it would have been something else. But still, it was him not choosing to grow some balls that sent the ginger over the fence all those years ago. So, if Ian needed to take another test to validate another certification, be assured Mickey would be there sharpening his fucking pencils.

“Good for Kev. Pretty sure there won’t be another asshole threaten’ to sue him once you sort his shit out!” Mickey chuckled and Ian sighed. He hadn’t told Mickey about the reason why Kev needed him. He understood Mickey had meddle to get Kev to give him the job. But he also understood Mickey had made sure to let Ian decide whether he wanted to take the job or not. So, he wouldn’t say he knew, just like Mickey didn’t say what he did. It wasn’t lying per say, it was letting the other one love you… behind your back.

*

Ian looked at the green garden through the bay window of the lobby, the lake in the background was nothing short of idyllic. Surrounded by trees, strewed with tiny colorful boats. Ian didn’t believe how beautiful this was. He knew real life. Real life was kind of ugly. This perfect picture wasn’t real life. Or at least it wasn’t their life. So, they had to make sure they’d enjoy every fucking second of it. Every seconds of the birds chirping and the fucking squirrels having a blast on the lawn. Mickey had checked in for the room and joined Ian by the window bay, he slipped his hand in his husband’s.

“A fucking 3 stars on Paw Paw lake, Mickey? Really?” The shorter man smiled. He gently stroked Ian’s thumb with his.

“That’s so fucking gay!” Ian smiled as Mickey downright laughed.

“’F you think that’s gay, you ain’t seen nothing yet bitch! C’mon, room’s ready and my ass needs filling.” Leave it to Mickey to cancel every ounce of romanticism the place had to offer.

So yeah, Mickey wasn’t your run of the mill romantic kind of gay. He tried, with flowers and chocolate, but Mickey would always tone it down with the most unromantic comment. Ian guessed it was just a way for him to keep a bit of that ‘thug no bullshit Milkovich’ alive in the midst of their new apple pie-2 kids-good, paying, honest jobs-perfect picture life. And t was fine with him. Or so he thought when Mickey opened the door to their room.

The room was bathed in the light of the sunset over the lake. So much so that Ian didn’t see the rose petals scattered all over the bed. He did, however, quickly see the Champagne on ice, the two glasses next to the plate of strawberries.

“Mick!”

“Yeah. Too much, huh?!” The shorter man seemed unsure, looking far out the window as an escape to the romantic décor he had requested and was now pathologically unsure of.

“No, my love it’s fucking perfect, come here!”

Mickey unceremoniously dropped their bag on the leather luggage rack by the wardrobe and strode to Ian. His hand went to Ian’s nape, gently stroking at the short hair there. He leaned into Ian’s hold, resting against the other man’s chest as they kissed tenderly, tongues meddling slowly, until air came short and they had to separate reluctantly.

“Just the two of us. Finally!” Mickey huffed the words between two kisses on Ian’s neck, his hands still grabbing at his hair as if to remain grounded. Ian pushed him towards the bed, sort of waiting for his husband’s crude comment. But it never came. Only sweetness came when he gently accompanied Mickey’s fall on the bed, when they made out. They never made out. Wasn’t their thing. They kissed to introduce the fuck and that was it. And the kissing had not even always been there. But right now, they were kissing and caressing cheeks and whispering words of love in each other ears. And no complaint whatsoever from his cranky other half. On the contrary. Mickey sighed in every gentle whisper of confessed love from the ginger octopus holding him tightly with all his limbs.

“Hey,” Mickey pushed away from Ian, just enough to take a deep breath. But Ian kept coming back at him for more shmooshy time,

“Babe.” Mickey chuckled. “Wanna go have a stroll outside before it’s dark?”

“Nah.” Ian grabbed his husband’s neck and pulled him back to him, planting a wet kiss on his forehead. “I wanna make love to you.” He paused for dramatic effect. “And maybe eat a strawberry out of your navel.” He licked at Mickey’s neck tracing the line from his ear to his clavicle, pushing the obstructive t-shirt away until Mickey took the hit and removed it.

“Could be down for that, love strawberries!” That smile. That smile Ian could never get enough of. He dove back, lips crashing on the expectant skin of the man he loved so much. He ran the flat of his skin over the right nipple and looked for a moment at the goose bumps forming there, waiting for an impatient comment that never came. Gazes met, they lost themselves in those for a moment. It is common knowledge that you can say a lot through a look. Those two men proved that beyond belief, pouring all their feelings into their glances. It wasn’t just love, it was trust, understanding, belonging. Just as green met blue, it was a renewal of vows that what they had was theirs and theirs only. Something they could never say or act on in front of other people. Something they had never even said with words, but then again, it’s common knowledge that you can say a lot through a look.

“Say it.” Ian looked up at his man, his tong now running slowly and wetly on hs ribs.

“My love.” He kissed Mickey’s belly, right next to the navel, cruelly lacking strawberry. The shorter man pushed him enough to wriggle his way out of the bed and to the bowl of fruit.

“Champ’?” He asked but was already pouring two glasses as he watched Ian grabbing his shirt by the back collar and pull it over his head. God, he loved that move!

Mickey placed a strawberry in his mouth and made it back to his husband carrying the two very full glasses of bubbly beverage. He bit at the strawberry and forcefully put half of the fruit in Ian’s mouth. The taller man growled lowly at the exquisite incursion, and swallowed the piece in a few bites, eager to go taste at that sweet skin again. But Mickey had other plans, He put his glass on the bedside table and dropped to his knees, planting kisses along the way on the far too clothed hips. He unbuttoned the jeans slowly, much to Ian’s surprise, really not used to a patient Mick when it came to fucking. But the ginger came to realize he enjoyed that very much. Mickey was now kissing at his bare skin. Open wet kisses at his hips, his pubis and his very reactive sex.

The man he loved, kneeling before him in a very loving endeavor elicited the best thoughts out of Ian. He ran a hand in the black jay hair.

“My love!” This struck just the right nerve in the other man who gulped on the now fully gorged shaft at once. He bobbed his head a few times before pulling away and licking at the leaking head. Not remotely surprised when the first wave of champagne Ian had poured over hit him straight in the face. He lapped at the golden liquid and muffled his content moan in Ian’s pubis.

“Come here my love,” Ian gently grabbed Mickey’s nape and pulled him up as he uncourteously tossed the empty glass on the carpeted floor.

“I need to be inside you!” Mickey moaned. That’s how Ian saw how far his husband was gone now. Somehow unable to speak anymore. He removed his jeans and accompanied his fall on the bed as he kissed his way to his now leaking prize. Ian took Mickey in his mouth eagerly, letting his hand roam around his husband’s ring of muscles. It was slow, tender but somewhat wild at the same time. Letting their feelings run the show made it even more animalistic.

“Ian!” was the only understandable word Mickey could muster. He was wiggling under his touch, sighing even more loudly as Ian entered him as slowly as he could, this idle rhythm making his own heart explode in his chest. They both knew they had to up the pace at one point. Yet, none of them wanted too. Happy to keep bathing in this whirlpool of overwhelming feelings.

“My love, humpf.” It was becoming hard for Ian to speak too. So, he picked up the pace with a mixture of alleviation and mild regret that it was coming to an end, making Mickey exhale a growl each time pelvis met ass. They both came with a load moan. Ian dropped on his husband’s chest and decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life there, listening to the racing heart of a satisfied and very in love Mickey.

“My love,” he said as he looked up. He, not so secretly, loved his man’s reaction to those words. And it didn’t fail. Mickey closed his eyes and breathed in as if he could inhale each spoken letter.

They remained there for a while, any thought of washing up not even in sight as they bathed in the faint light of early evening and their post sex euphoria. Kissing and gently stroking skin whenever they felt the energy to do so. And out of the blue, Mickey broke the moment with a comment that would remain in Ian’s mind forever.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout what you said. I thought we could ask Mandy to be our surrogate. Like that it’d be a Gallagher/Milkovich baby for real, you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a tiny ginger with blue eyes coming along somehow... what'd'ya think? ^^
> 
> Next chapter around the 15th November, or maybe a little later...


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 years after Yevgeny came back into their lives, the Milkovich/Gallagher household has settled into a domestic life. Shit comes up, because you know... tough luck! But they manage and they are happy!
> 
> They don't need anything more, but life is sending them a gift... up to them to decide to accept it
> 
> Direct continuation of Babe and Blyad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi folks!
> 
> First of, thanks for keeping up with me :-) I've worked double on that chapter as due to no luck, I lost half the chapter on Wednesday and had to rewrite everything... That being said I really love this chapter, I hope you love it too! Also because it kind of hit close to home for a certain topic (more on that in the end of chapter notes!)
> 
> Next and final update for this story end of October.
> 
> Also, some background info here: This chapter takes place about a year after the previous one.
> 
> Please do leave comments and Kudos, it makes my day and helps me keep going <3 <3 <3

Mandy impatiently tapped her fingers on the table and winced. For a split moment she had forgotten where she was. The sticky wood of the table brought by decades of lazy cleaning and cheap cleaning products reminded her what a shithole the Alibi Room was. The distraction was not enough, however, to calm her nerves. When Mickey called, she had been at Lip’s for a few days already. Playing fucking house. They had agreed to keep it slow ever since they got back together. Even agreed to keep it on the down low until they figured out what this was. She came to Chicago because it was just easier with Freddy and Lip’s job and all. Also, she was sort of happy to get out of her cramped apartment. Don’t get her wrong, she loved Sandy, but the girl was wild. Well, wilder than her for sure. So, they decided she’d come to Chicago, at first at weekends, but as time passed and as Liam and Freddy seemed able to keep their mouth shut, she extended the week ends during the weeks. And now almost 6 months into their renewed bond, she had spent the last 2 weeks at Lips. Remarkably so, without running into a single one of the Gallagher’s herd (well, the ones that didn’t know). And if it hadn’t been for her hardly controlled desire to hit Tammi in the face when she came to pick up Fred for the weekend, things were pretty smooth.

So much so, she couldn’t help but hope for more. Which kinda scared her given their track record.

And then her asshole brother called. Out of the blue. Said he and Ian had something to ask her. Mick never called. That was their relationship. They’d be happy to see each other but didn’t really feel the need to get in contact in between. That was a Milkovich thing really, she hardly spoke to her other brothers, only called for Christmas and the kids’ birthdays. Even including Franny this year. That girl was the cutest little minx!

Ian and she were communicating from time to time. Ian would just randomly call her, and they would speak for hours. Well less as of lately, mainly because she was keeping stuff from him. Maybe Lip and her should just say they were back together and if anyone was upset, fuck it.

On the other hand, things were perfect the way they were, why risk it? She wasn’t quite sure what to tell them. She wasn’t even sure what this whole meeting was happening. Why the hell did she have to fake travel from New York just so they could ask her whatever.

Mickey woke Ian up with a tender kiss behind the ear and an even more tender slap on his barely covered buttock. It turned into a sweet caress as he started whispering.

“Need to get ready babe, Mands said she would be at the Alibi at 10.” Ian let out a lazy growl, turned on his back to grab his husband by the shoulders and pulled him toward him. The brunette didn’t even try to resist, let himself pulled down until he dropped on Ian’s chest scratching his stubble against the freshly shaved smooth skin.

“What time’s it?” Ian yawned loudly, making him chuckle against a slowly reactive nipple.

“9:30, gotta move your ass, sleepin’ beauty.” He took support on the warm chest and pushed himself of the bed.

“Ig’s already here, kids havin’ breakfast. C’me on, have a shower and come down, coffee and then we go, a’right?” He bent over the bed and kissed Ian. He grunted and tried to hide a smile.

“Brush your teeth too man.” He said as he exited the room.

Mickey strolled down the stairs trying to control his breathing. It had been a while since he had to deal with being so excited and freaked at the same time. It brought back memories. Butterflies in his lower belly. And it felt weird that the same feelings were brought by such different situations. Meeting Ian in secret as a teenager and willingly having a baby with his husband were two different things. Yet, his reactions were pretty similar. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. All that disappeared in the background of his mind, though, as soon as he stepped into to kitchen.

Ig was flipping French toasts while directing the army of tinyish bees buzzing around the table. So apparently the whole herd was having breakfast here.

It had been almost a year now that this dynamic had settled but Mickey was still gob smacked that his gun-enthusiast, drug-dealing thug of a brother was an absolute genius when it came to arts and crafts for age 3 and above.

It had started as a technical decision. Iggy was the only adult not working so it made sense that he’d look after the kids in the morning and when they came back from school. Surprising everyone (maybe even Iggy himself), it went very fucking well. Out of the blue, but very welcomed by everyone, the older Milkovich had decided to make this his “job”, well with the occasional moonlighting for his brother because you don’t scrub the Milkovich out of a thug.

And Iggy had literally bloomed in the job, organized as fucked and very good in creating fun activities. His and Deb’s house was the center of operation. The younger ones were carried there by their older siblings/cousins/uncle in the morning for breakfast and lunch bags. And the parents would join or stay behind to get some alone time. Iggy had even rearrange the dining room into some sort of rec room. Debbie being ever the practical one had worked out a monthly fee to cover food and material expenses. And well, apparently, this was a quite acceptable offer given that the Ball girls had also joined the herd of kids.

Mickey reckoned no matter how long that would last, he would still be in awe at seeing his brother happy with accepting himself for who he was. Growing up in the Milkovich house, your only outcome as a man was Terry’s vision of it. Beer-drinking, greasy wife-beater-wearing alpha male (in his head only). Being gay wasn’t an option, neither was being a power woman. Nor was being a stay at home dad. So yeah Mickey was surprised but he also was happy for his brother. Happy that he found in him to work through the shit they had been in knee deep all their fucking life. And if for his brother that meant supervising homework and changing nappies, then that was good enough for Mickey. Provided that Ig call one of they if help was needed for homework. Let’s face it, it already was a miracle the guy could write his name right. He even had a list:

Ian – English, History

Mick – Algebra, Calculus

Debs, Lip – Everything

He personally had some knowledge on chemistry, but Lip had rightfully pointed that the kids were not trying to cook meths.

Mickey chuckled at the thought of the list plastered in the rec room and at how fucking domestic this all was. But they were doing well. And soon, there would be an addition to their little tribe. Stomach dropping, belly churning. Again. He ignored it as best he could waved everyone hello and made a beeline to the cabinet above the coffee maker. He grabbed a sugar tin box showing a worn-out commercial drawing for red rooster floor. Opened it as he nonchalantly dropped it on the counter and pulled a few pills bottles out of it. The gesture was out of habits, no even thought through anymore. He picked a mug on the counter, poured some coffee and set it next to the small pile of pills.

When Ian came down, he aimed straight for his coffee. He couldn’t miss it; it was the one next to the small pile of pills. He took time to appreciate his coffee given that it would be the only one today. Annoying pills had taken more than a toll on his small pleasures. Coffee had to be monitored, alcohol was for special occasions only. Even cigarettes where interfering with some shit about neurotransmitters. That had actually very likely been the trigger for his last trip down the rabbit hole. This stupid treatment was stealing all his guilty pleasures. He took the pills, nonetheless. One look at the kids around the table, hell even one thought about them reminded him why he was happily taking the pills. The side effect would tear off his limbs that he would still be taking them. It was all worth it. One look at his husband and he was easily reminded of other guilty pleasures that were still very available. Well, except when he had to level his meds, but they usually made up for those times. A lot. A lo, a lot, a lot!

And soon there would be another person that would make it worth take his pills.

Another quick glance at Mickey and he saw the stress in his eyes. Most likely, he was the only one to see it, as the man was behaving like his usual self. He looked at him intently with an almost imperceptible smile. And it did the trick. To anyone around, it was just two men having their morning coffee. But Ian could literally see Mickey relax at the show of affection he just received from his husband.

“Ready when you are.”

“’K, let’s go.”

“Gonna tell me where you’re goin’ at the crack of down?” Iggy received a finger up from his brother before the two men exited with no further explanation.

In the kitchen he was met with kids’ laughter.

“Daddy, it’s almost 10 already!” More laughter, the teenagers joined this time. Iggy looked at the fierce redhead amazon in the making, munching on her banana.

“Yeah, but it’s Saturday. You remember, sweety, on Saturdays, mornings start at 11, ‘k?”

As they arrived at the Alibi, Ian pulled Mick to him before he could reach the handle of the door.

“You sure about it?” The brunette looked at him, his eyebrows shaping a surprised expression.

“Of course, I’m sure!”

“Mick, I know you didn’t ant children to start with and…”

“And now WE have two, and I want a tiny little redhead to go with the giant one I already got.” Ian couldn’t help but smile. He squinted his eyes at Mickey.

“You know there’s a chance the baby won’t be ginger, right?” The look of absolute dismay on the man’s face made him huff a breath in silent laughter.

“Then we’ll dye her hear,” he dismissed the comment with a wave of his right arm as if it was obvious that wouldn’t happen.

“Her?”

“Shut up,” middle finger. “Now, come on, the bitch’s gonna be pissed if we’re late.” Ian was downright laughing now as he watched him forcefully push the entrance door and make his way in like he owned the place. Ian wouldn’t mind if their daughter (apparently!) took that don’t-take-no-shit, own-the-place attitude from the Milkovich genes.

Mandy waved at them as soon as they came it. They were almost not late but still it annoyed her that she had to wait. Ian strode to her and planted a kiss on her forehead before he sat down on the opposite side of the booth.

“How you doin’?” She asked smiling. But before Ian could reply, Mickey was back with a coke for him and a beer that he proceeded to start even before he had sat down next to his husband.

“Mick!” He scolded,

“Wha’,” the word was dragged out in this very Mickey way to let you know he didn’t get what was your problem and didn’t give a flying fuck for that matter. It went straight to Ian belly. Even after years of practicing his husband, there were a few things that were still sending lightning bolts like thousand volts in Ian’s heart, and Mickey’s nonchalant slur was top of the list. He wanted to say that 10 was definitely too early for a beer, but all he could do was showing his most dufus smile. And Mickey knew perfectly what was happening if his knowing smile was any indication.

“Domestic bitches much?” Mandy brought them back to the living world rather abruptly.

Butterflies settled but never left. They did some mundane talking for a short while but quickly realized none of them gave a shit. So, Mickey just dove in, like band aid he thought, the fastest it’s said, the fastest it’s over. Nonetheless, he didn’t actually mean to blurt it out that abruptly.

“We wanna have a baby!” OK, so that was out there. Ian looked as frantic as him right now, quite sure he couldn’t count on his help to make the whole thing a little less messy.

“hum…” She looked at them sideways as she grabbed her now cold coffee. “Pretty sure that’s physically not possible, dude!” She was laughing now. The bitch was just laughing.

“Duh, we ain’t stupid skank! We want you to be the mother!”

Silence.

“Mickey, come on!” Ian looked at Mandy and smiled shyly. “We thought it’d be great if you were our surrogate, Mands.”

Silence again.

The two men were prepared for any answer, but still, their hearts dropped in unison when she just whispered a quiet “no”.

If they were surprised, the two men didn’t show it. Sure, Mandy didn’t see how Ian grasped his husband’s hand under the table and squeezed so tight, knuckles turned white. But upfront there was no failure, their expressions were unreadable. But Mandy guessed that was just a façade. Now what options did she have? Give her brother and her best friend what they wanted or stay true to herself.

She had fought too hard to be the woman she wanted to be. To be able to be who she was now. And who she was didn’t want to get pregnant. It was so encored in society that women wanted to be mothers, wanted to have life grow inside them that not wanting that was somewhat misunderstood. But she had worked hard to be able to accept who she was and be proud that she just couldn’t deny that Even for Ian and Mickey.

Maybe they would accept it, maybe they wouldn’t but no matter what she couldn’t. And that was it really. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

She braced herself for the inevitable comments. She couldn’t picture any of these guys say anything really. On the other hand, every time the topic came up, like clockwise, she was told she was selfish for not wanting kids, or that she simply had not met the “right guy”. As if she couldn’t be wanting to not have a tiny human growing inside of her. But that was it, she DID-NOT want to have a tiny human growing inside of her. She had come to term with that. And maybe she would change her mind one day, or maybe she wouldn’t. But that was her decision to make, her bridge to cross.

She was sorry she couldn’t do that for her brother. She really wished she could help, but she felt she would lose herself in the process. At least, maybe she could explain her chain of thoughts. They would understand for sure (not like everyone else the discussed this with…).

She must have looked distressed there for a moment because before she could clearly run her thoughts, Ian had grabbed her hand and was gently stroking her knuckles with his thumb.

“’T’s OK Mands we have other options.” He smiled at her. And her brother did the same. And she felt better and crappy at the same time. She hated that.

Silence again. Only broke by Ian’s phone ringing. The tall man looked at the caller ID and in a split second, was standing on the bench, stepping over the back of the to exit the booth. He expertly stepped away, toward the pool table to take the call with whatever privacy the location provided. But not before dismissing with a half-hearted (and not even) apology to the bartender for stepping on the furniture. This new bartender, Jim, maybe, was not yet up to speed with how much of a dump the place was. Mickey smiled at that while he was looking at Ian speaking on the phone.

“Mick,” back to reality. He turned his attention back to his sister.

“You serious about having a kid?”

“Yeah. You serious about Lip?” the asshole had the most glorious shit-eating grin.

“Shit, how d’you know?”

“Turns out you can’t count on a 4-year-old to keep his mouth shut!” He was smiling his ass off, even chuckled a bit.

“Who else knows?” Mandy was definitely NOT smiling. This day had been hard to handle so far.

“hmm,” he took a breath. “Freddy told Darren, Darren told Iggy, Ig told me, and I’m gonna tell Ian pretty soon.”

“Shit. ‘K, we’ll come clean. We just wanted to be sure, you know.”

“Yeah, well, you two were a shitshow before, can’t wait to see that happening again.” The tone was humoristic, but Mandy knew her brother enough to hear the concern underlying. She decided to change topic.

“Is it that important that there’s Milkovich DNA? I mean talking about shitshow?!”

“Don’t worry about it, we really do have other options.” He took a sip at his beer. “And it’s not to me. A tiny ginger furry running all around the place is good enough.” He looked in the general direction of the pool table looking for the grown-up version of the ginger furry.

“But I guess it is a little for him.” He spotted his husband and got lost in the sight for a while. Brought back to reality again by his sister.

“Why don’t you ask Sandy?” Yes, that could work, she had all the Milkovich they needed running in her veins.

Before he could phrase his acknowledgment, Ian was there towering above him. He looked anxious. It made Mickey anxious, automatically.

That was Iggy. He tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. Said he found a letter in Bernie’s school bag. She got into a fight, the school principal is waiting for us at 11 on Monday.”

*

The girl was sitting on the wooden bench in the corridor, absentmindedly running her fingers through the knots of her hair. The ponytail her dad had managed this morning was long gone and the untamed mane of jay black hair was all over the place. She hissed as one of her still bruised knuckles collided with a stronger hair knot. And a sob came. She wasn’t sure why. This stupid Curtis deserved every punch he received, and then more. Another sob, and another, until the blue of her eyes was blurred behind tears. She swiped her cheeks dry, not wanting to show her weakness. She had learned that from her mom. That’s how she realized why the tears had come. She wished her mom was there right now. She sure loved her dad and papa, but she didn’t really know what to expect from them as this situation was all knew in their relationship. After uncle Iggy found the letter, they had asked her what had happened, but didn’t shout at her when she refused to talk, just let her alone. She suddenly felt very alone. And watching that idiot follow his dad into the principal office with a giant grin on his face made her angry again. She was just glad the missing tooth rendered him even uglier.

Bernie raised her watery eyes when she heard he name. Before she could realize who called her, strong arms were surrounding her, crushing her face into heaving chest.

“It’s all gonna be ok, sweety. But you need to tell us what happened now, alright?”

“Ian! Let her be! Can’t you see she’s crying?” Mick narrowed his hold on his daughter, pulling her on his knees as he sat down, and stroking her head gently. So, yeah, as it turned out, Mickey turned into an overprotective mother hen whenever one of his kids was distraught. This was funny and endearing at the same time. Two reasons to make Ian smile at his husband. But Mickey didn’t see the smile, too busy whispering sweet supportive words in his daughter’s ears. But Ian knew they had to get to the bottom of it. Their 6 years old daughter had to know from the start that getting into a fight was not the best solution.

Before Ian could speak, the door to the principal office opened on a giant south side made bear in garage overalls followed closely by a tallish blond little turd with a bruised face and fat lip. Ian tried not to smile at the scene. He really tried. But then one glance at Mickey and his proud dad face pushed Ian over the edge. He was proud to.

Nonetheless, Bernie had to know that violence cannot always be the answer.

“Bernadette should not have hit Curtis. You must understand that violence is never the answer.” The bold slim man seated on the opposite side of the cheap wood desk, readjusted his glasses. With that statement Mickey knew he was definitely not southside. If he was, he would know that no matter how hard you try, there might be some time when violence is the only answer.

“What Curtis said was not correct, but Bernadette should have gone to tell her teacher instead of taking matter into her own hands.”

“We have a counselor that knows about you family dynamic and I believe it mi…”

“Family dyn… the fuck you talkin’ about right now?”

“Mick!” Ian warned, but there was no stopping Mickey.

Well, actually, the following sentence from Principal Snider silenced him immediately.

“The homo-parentality might raise questions among the other pupils. That’s actually what Curtis comment was all about, and I believe that Bernadette should have some help to cope with the particularity of her family.”

One look at Mickey and Ian knew this wouldn’t sit well. The man was on the brink of crying. And that was not admissible to Ian.

“Ok, we’re done. Bernie’s not coming back here.” Ian had gotten up and grabbed his daughter’s hand willfully. Mickey just imitated his husband, not saying a word. He was hurt and had a hard time hiding it.

“And please get Franny Gallagher-Milkovich too, she’s not staying here either.” He was looking the man straight in the eyes. Although they were roughly the same height, Ian looked much taller somehow.

“And Darren Milkovich and Freddy Gallagher in preschool sections.” He was getting all flustered, but he wasn’t done yet and that asshole deserved all of his wrath.

“No kid in this family is staying in a school that is not able to explain to badly raised little fuckers that there is nothing fucking wrong with having two dads, or two moms for that matter!” He was angry to no end. They didn’t fight all the shit that was sent their way all those years to have their kids take the same.

Although he was wrapped up in his own angst, Mickey realized what was coming up and pulled his phone out of his jacket to send a message on the WhatsApp family conversation.

The principal was standing straight behind his desk, realizing what was unfolding. He seemed to weigh his options for a moment and apparently decided to go for the legal reasons as to why Ian couldn’t pick up his nephews and niece.

Mickey smiled at that; he was way ahead of that stupid ass.

“Mister Gallagher, I urge you to calm down. You cannot just pick up any kid like that, you need consent from the p…”

“Sir, sorry to interrupt.” Just as it would be in a fiction, the somewhat dismayed secretary had popped her head in. “I just had Debra Gallagher on the phone. She said that if we didn’t give her kids to her brother, she would come down herself, and,” she took a deep breath to give her time to decide whether she should deliver the rest of the message. And, well, she just did. “And that we didn’t want her to come down here.”

Before anyone could react, the phone rang again. The petite brunette mechanically clicked on the button on the side her head set and repeated the sentence she was conditioned to say when she answered the phone.

“North Kenwood school, how may I help.” Her voice was jolly for a few seconds until it wasn’t anymore. “I understand Mister Gallagher but… Yes… No… Sure, I’ll tell him, but… Hello? Mister Gallagher, hello?” She clicked the button again and looked at her boss quizzically. She knew what his next request would be, just waited for it.

“Guess that was Lip. Now get the kids so we can get the fuck out of that shithole.” Mickey had found his place-owning attitude back. He was holding Bernie’s hand tightly as he made his way out the room, not caring much about the secretary still in the middle.

When the kids were rounded up and Darren had jumped into Mickey’s arms, they exited the school, not regretting their decisions whatsoever. The toddlers could stay with Ig for the time being and it wouldn’t be that hard to find another school for the girls. They could have fought, but then, in the moment, Ian had thought that there was no reason for Bernie to fight their fight if they could transfer her to a better place. Maybe they could find a school in the northside? So, yeah, it wasn’t very well thought through, but it felt good. And it felt even better to have the whole Gallagher clan behind him.

Bernie was trotting behind her dads, holding hands with Franny. Right there, at the very young age of 6, she understood what it meant to be part of this family. She understood that not only her fathers had stood by her, but they also took it a step further to ensure she would feel good in her school. She did have friends in that school, but she also had been the target of stupid comments and jokes. She hadn’t said anything to her dads because she wasn’t sure how to. But she told Franny. And Franny wasn’t all that surprised when her cousin knocked Curtis out. Although Franny was happy in that school, she thought she would be even happier somewhere her best friend wasn’t bullied.

“We ought to find a school with open-minded fucking faculty. Even if it’s a bit far. Ig can take a car from the agency.”

“’T’s alright Mick, we’ll make some research and find the perfect scho…”

“Hey ladies, good riddance, go teach that spawn of yours how you’re all goin’ to hell!” They turned around at once to see Curtis asshole of a father, about 100 feet from them. Now joined by what looked like a 15-year-old teenager.

Everything unfolded in a few seconds. Before anyone could react, Mickey had put Darren down, ran to the giant man and kicked him hard in the nuts. Ian followed him suit but Mickey had time to hit the kneeling man right in the jaw.

“Mick, calm the fuck down!”

“How d’you like getting’ beat up by a fuckin’ mo, bitch, huh?” Mickey sucker punched the man, effectively pulling a tooth. Bernie, who could see the ironic symmetry between father and son’s lost teeth started laughing, eliciting frantic laughter from all the Gallagher/Milkovich kids.

Mickey threw another fist before Ian could stop him. Classic Ian move, hitting the shorter man in the throat. Mickey fell on his ass holding his throat in shock.

“You gotta stop Mickey!”

Believe it or not, that’s exactly the moment tiny teen asshole picked to avenge his father and ran to a still grounded Mickey. Stopped dead in his track by the cold blade he felt on his throat. And in a flash of light the chaotic brawl was replaced by replaced by uncomfortable silence.

“Yev,” Mickey said quietly as he got up and slowly approached his son, “Yevgeny, drop the knife.”

“He was about to hurt you daddy; he was going to hit you when you were on the ground!” The young boy pulled the knife closer to the other boy’s throat.

“Yev, com’on it’s OK, alright? Drop the knife. The little bitch’s not worth it.” Very slowly he reached for his son’s hand and pulled it away before he snatched the weapon and pushed the boy toward his husband.

Ian grabbed his son and pulled him by the nape of his neck. He signed to the rest of the herd to follow him. Liam, who had arrived with Yev, grabbed one toddler in each hand and made sure the two girls were following.

Mickey, now alone, pushed the other boy forcefully enough for him to fall on the ground next to his father. He grabbed the man’s overall at the collar and pulled him so that he would look at him.

“You better hope I don’t see you again. Next time there won’t be no one to save your fat sorry ass.” It was matter-of-factly. And it most likely was the tone that sent shivers up Curtis’ father’s spine, more than the words.

Mickey ran back to the car and with no warning, slapped his son across the face.

“The fuck were you thinkin’?!” Realizing what he had just done, the former thug pulled his now sobbing son in his arms.

“Sorry, kid, sorry,” he kissed his son’s forehead. “You just fuckin’ scared me!”

The ride home was silent a heavy.

Explanations would come later, at dinner.

Turned out in his hast to reach out to Debbie and Lip, Mickey had messaged the whole family WhatsApp instead of just the parents’ one. Yev very protective of his sister had decided to come for moral support. And Liam had followed.

Turned out Yevgeny had been carrying a fucking knife in the last few months. Because of his Milkovich heritage.

Mickey wouldn’t hear that explanation because when they arrived home, he had gone straight to their room and sulked for hours (turned to days even).

*

“Mick, you did nothing wrong. You know that, right?” The man in his arms shifted a little making the bed linen drop below his bellybutton.

“I don’t know who I was kiddin’, fuckin’ Terry ruined me for life.” He tried to say it in a somewhat comedic tone but the tremors in his throat rendered the whole thing heart breaking. Ian felt his stomach tighten.

“I’ve taken an appointment for you with Winters.” He planted a kiss behind Mickey’s ear and got out of bed.

“Com’on, my love, let’s take a shower. I’m gonna wash you to make up for all the times you did it for me and then I gonna fuck you because I need to be inside you, Mick.” He grabbed his husband’s hands and pulled on them until Mickey complied and got up, aiming for Ian’s chest, relaxing in his arms for a moment. “I need to feel you, my love, and I know you need to feel me too.” He pushed his lover’s chin up with his index and planted the sweetest kiss on the dry, slightly trembling lips. Mickey revelled in the moment, didn’t want it to stop. Reverently followed Ian in the bathroom. Somehow, he wasn’t sure he wanted to fuck. At that very moment, he wanted to be in Ian’s arms, to be held, to be loved. They stepped in the shower and Ian gently pushed Mickey under the water, scooping tiny amounts of water in his cupped hands and pouring them over the other man’s head, and shoulders, and back. Each drop followed by an open mouth kiss.

“Just so you know,” kiss on the right shoulder, “We’re going ahead with the surrogacy,” left shoulder, “got Mandy to speak to Sandy,” neck, tongue lingering there for a moment.

“Because you’re a great father and you’re gonna be the reason our baby has the best life ever.” Kiss on the jaw. Mickey’s lips met him there after a few seconds. Mickey was sure now that he wanted to be fucked, right there, right now, by the right person. By Ian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the thing, I've put words in Mandy's mind that are mine and it felt very good to get it out. i feel it is possible for Mandy to think like that and although her reasons might not be rooted to the same reasons I have I sort of jumped on the occasion to say it outload and I hope without (for once) the eternal same answers.   
> (because, apparently, if you don't want babies, it's only because you haven't found the right man...)
> 
> Anyways, you guys are my therapist here, thank you very much! :-D 
> 
> hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 years after Yevgeny came back into their lives, the Milkovich/Gallagher household has settled into a domestic life. Shit comes up, because you know... tough luck! But they manage and they are happy!
> 
> They don't need anything more, but life is sending them a gift... up to them to decide to accept it
> 
> Direct continuation of Babe and Blyad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter of this story, I really hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!!!  
> The next story is called Bob (You'll know why very fast ^^°) This will be the final story of this instalment and will be some sort of epilogue. Stay tune!
> 
> As usual, I'll be glad to hear what you think 🥰😊
> 
> Thanks everyone!

“Forget it, that’s crap, I ain’t gonna do it!” Why on earth had he even spoken to Ian about this shitty assignment Winters had given him.

“Mick, she said it would help you. You trusted her before, no?” The shorter man nodded.

“So, just try!” He took a sip at his coke while looking his husband intently in the eyes.

Mickey sighed exasperatedly, also waved his arms for good measure. But, of course, he was gonna try it. After what happened with Yev he was willing to try everything to make sure his children don’t have the same violent upbringing he had. Ian had argued over and over that they wouldn’t because Mickey was not Terry and he himself wasn’t Frank, nor Monica. But Mickey kept reliving his reaction at Bernie’s school, in a loop. And he kept imagining Yev playing with his knife. He didn’t want that for his kids.

Plus, Winters had helped before.

Mickey knew one thing: He needed to do it on his own. Somehow, the one place he knew he should be was also the last place he wanted to be. He had not been there since they buried Terry, had vowed himself he’d never step foot near the asshole’s grave. Yet, here he was, back rested on the tombstone, knees bent to hold the notepad, pen in hand.

“Fuck it.” He said out loud.

_Terry_ , he started writing and the flow came out, surprising him, opening parts of him he didn’t even know he had.

*

_Terry,_

_Fucking asshole. I don’t know what to tell you. I have nothing to tell you. But Ian and the therapist I’m seeing because of you, they seem to think that it’ll do me good. So, here I am fucking writing to you. Not doing it for you, though. Not even doing it for me._

_I do it for my kids. That’s right, bitch, I’ve got kids. 2 plus one on the way. They’re mine and Ian’s and we’re doing so fucking great it would kill you to see it. But you’re already dead. So, my kids will never have to deal with you. And you know what, that makes me fucking happy, pops. I hope you rot in hell knowing that I’m a better father than you ever was and that I raise my kids with my husband._

_Yep, my husband, you hear that? My husband who I love. He fucks me every day, he makes love to me and I fucking whimper like a little bitch when he gives it to me. Man, I hope you can read that somehow and I hope you fucking choke on every fucking words. I’m happy, dad. I’m happy with Ian and I’m happy with my kids despite all the shit you tossed at me._

_You know, I even wonder now how I even was scared of you. You were nothing more than a pathetic excuse for a father, or for a human being even. But you got us all scared. Why?_

_You know, sometimes I think about you and all the fucking shit you got us through. What kind of a human being does that to their own kids? It got me thinking, I don’t know, maybe you had a crappy childhood? I mean there must be a reason, right?_

_No one is that nasty just for the fun of it. I don’t know, like something bad happened to you or something. Something that would explain why you found normal to beat the shit out of your kids or rape your own daughter. Or fucking having me raped!_

_You see how I grew over that shit, asshole? I can say it now, I fucking acknowledge that my father had me raped because he didn’t like who I was. And I’m better just to say it out loud. And it serves you right you pathetic motherfucker, because I am exactly the person I was meant to be, all that was for nothing. I’m the fag you tried to get rid out. I’m the husband you dreamt you could be. And I’m the father you could never be. I win, you lose._

_Thinking of it, there cannot be any excuse for your shit. Even if you were fucking raped by grizzly bears as a kid, there’s no motherfucking excuse. Because I had excuses, didn’t I? And I still doing a better job at fucking parenting, dad! And I try to do better every day! I’m even here right now, writing this stupid ass letter just to try and get rid of the last remaining of your venom in my soul._

_I’m doing that shit so I can raise my kids right. So they can be good people, better than me, and better than you._

_You know what, writing got me thinking, looks like that shit works after all (who fucking knew!). I thought I wished I’d killed you myself when you kicked the bucket, wished I could have seen life leave your eyes. I got upset at Lana I think for denying that to me. But now, I realize I don’t really care. You’re dead, you won’t piss on our lives like the fucking stray dog you were. And that’s all that matters._

_If I had to wish I’d done something different, that’d be to stand up to you. From the start. Ian and Lana were right, I was a pussy, and I was scared. Of what, huh? You were nothing more the same neighborhood shithead I beat the shit out. You’re nothing. And I wish I’d realized that sooner because then I would have given Ian what he deserved sooner. But I ain’t a pussy anymore Terry. I’m a fucking grown ass adult and Imma make sure my kids are raised to become the opposite of what you thought a man should be (or a woman). They gonna be kind, educated, proud, open-minded. If they still bore your name, the whole fucking neighbourhood would know the Milkovich kids to be nice and happy._

_But you don’t even get that bitch! You don’t get my kids to bear your fucking name. Your legacy is buried in there with you. Cos’ you know what? Even the kids that are still Milkovich are gonna grow up to be decent human beings. Raised by your stay-at-home-dad of a son. And Ig is fucking good at it on top of that, a real fucking housewife. How’s that for a fucking kick in the ass, huh!?_

_So, yeah, I guess what I meant to say was fuck you Terry. I’m fucking proud of who I am and I’m fucking happy with the man I love and our kids and I hope you choke on your fucking rage and hatred, coz’ that’s not who I am anymore._

*

Mickey got up on his knees and awkwardly crawled the few feet to the front of the grave and started digging a small hole with his bare hands. He crumpled the letter he’d just written and threw it in the tiny hole. He nonchalantly pushed back the dirt and patted the small mound. I down.

But there was no way he’d stay here. He had already spent too much time on his father’s grave. He’d make sure he’d never come even remotely close to it. And not that it’d surprise him if you told him, but no one would come visit that grave any time soon.

Mickey roamed through the cemetery for a while, not quite sure where to go. The next part of his assignment was to write to Svetlana. He didn’t know what to tell her. But Winters had been clear, write a letter to the people that impacted his life. For his father it had been relatively easy to find inspiration in hate. But he didn’t hate Lana. Not really, not anymore.

Without realizing, he found himself towering Monica’s broken headstone. He wondered for a second how his absentminded wandering brought him there of all places. He had seen Monica around in the neighbourhood. She had won the ‘crazy’ title with hands down, even ‘batshit crazy Sheila’ seemed normal compared to her. Hell, even that bitch Sammi might have been a little less crazy. A little. But he had never met her in person, not as Ian’s mother. He had visited her here, though, a lot. With Ian. Even sometimes with other Gallaghers, and with Yev and Bernie. Ian’s relentlessness had won, it was never regular, even less on special occasions. He would come down in the morning and asked who wanted to come and see Monica. At the beginning it had just been the two of them. But one day, Debbie had joined. Another day Lip had decided to come with. Even Frank had been tagging along a few times, before Debbie had banned him for good. It was never a big family reunion, but every now and then it was more than just the two of them. And somehow, along the way, Mickey had started coming to see Monica more than as a support for his husband. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. He felt like he started to know her, or a version of her. Some sort of Monica patchwork made of what he remembered of her when he was a kid in the neighbourhood, what the Gallaghers had told him of her, and also this parts nasty person that stole Ian away from him all those yours ago.

He had never spoken to her though. Ian spoke to her when they came. Mickey found it peculiar, but never judged.

Who’s to say what he would do if he was to visit his mother’s grave. His heart sank a bit at the thought. He tried not to think of her much only hoping she was OK, had just gotten out of all the shit. But knowing deep down there was a high probability she had just kicked the bucket somewhere in a ditch, a needle in the arm. And that was why, really, he made a conscious effort to not think f her. With time it became easier. Except when memory came back with an odour or a sound or sometimes just nothing. She would just pop up in his mind. The souvenir of her, very clear and very blur at the same time. He would trade carefully with what he remembered of her. A nagging feeling at his gut that if he insisted too much, his brain would just take away even the feebler part of her he kept in his mind. Like her voice. He remembered her voice clearly, but he had the feeling that if he tried to actively remember it, then it would fade away, forever. So, he didn’t. Instead, he just let things come up randomly, surprising him sometimes. And with time, the strangest thing happened. These figments of memory popping up made him happy. He was revelling in them. But he guessed, not enough to have a one-sided way conversation, like Ian with Monica.

Without even realizing, he started speaking to Monica. Turned out he was doing that too, not that he would ever admit it to Ian!

“Hey, erm… so, I guess I’m gonna sit there for a while. Got fuckin’ letters to write.” He sat, his back against the unbroken part of the headstone and lit a cigarette.

“Fuckin’ feel stupid but my therapist said it’d help, so…” He trailed the ‘o’ and it blurred into a humourless chuckle.

“Not that you’d know anythin’ ‘bout that, fuckin’ selfish cunt,” he took a quick breath or two. “But your son and I we’re doin’ all we can to give your fuckin’ grandchildren a safe environment. He’s takin’ his meds. I’m havin’ fuckin’ therapy to control my anger. We gonna do better than you or Frank or my shitty parents.” He looked out at the field of graves surrounded by the occasional tree around them. The whole area was green, colourful and nice and peaceful.

“Anyway, don’t mind me.”

_Svetlana,_

_I have no fucking clue what I’m doing here. Ian told me I should go back to see his therapist because of my fucking anger. So I did. I don’t fucking want the kids to be scared like I was. I don’t know. I feel like you can relate somehow. Never really discussed your childhood. Or maybe you did and I ain’t listened. I don’t know…_

_Winters told me to write to people that changed my life or had an impact or some shit like that. She said I could give you the letter if I wanted. I don’t know if I want to. I don’t even know what I should fucking tell you. Like sure I could hate you for what happened. I did, for a fucking long time. But I guess you were at the wrong place, wrong time. A fucking tool in the asshole hand. A victim just like me. I fucking hate that word, victim. I guess you hate it too…_

_Maybe I should apologize for treating you like shit after. But you treated me like shit after too. I was fucking 18! I was 18 and you dropped a fucking rape child on my lap, made sure I’d lost the only person I’d ever loved, and you fucking expected me to be happy with that?_

_I don’t even know if I still hate you for that either. Life ‘s been shit but now we’re together like we’re meant to be. I guess I understand, you needed to be safe somehow. And maybe you thought your only way was by confronting me. You know what, I’d have taken care of you and Yev. And yeah, I guess if you had asked me back then I’d have denied it. But I’d have Lana, I fucking would have!_

_I know that now. Just like I know I can’t hate you for all that shit back then. Just like I will always be thankful for making me Yev’s father. He gives me purpose. He and his sister and whatever fucking comes out of my fucking cousin, I love them. I’m not scared to say it anymore, I fucking love them as much as I love Ian. Or more, even, if it’s possible._

_I really don’t like that this shitty thing Winters asked me to do, is making me think about things. About what I think about you, what I feel for you. I never loved you. You never loved me either. But you’re the mother of my son, guess that’s gotta count for something._

_I think maybe I kinda respect what you’re doing for him. Respect you as his mother. And I don’t know, I have the feeling that’s all you need from me, so I guess we’re good, right?_

_Fuck you know what? We’re not fucking good! Because of all this shit you put me through before, I couldn’t love my kid the way I should have. I took me fucking years to be the father he deserved t have. And that’s on you. And on me too, I guess. But mostly you!_

_And I’m fucking scared! What if it takes me time to love the baby that’s to come too?_

_Also, I’m still pissed at you for taking care of Terry instead of me. But thank you too, I guess._

Mickey folded the paper and teared another one from the pad, settling down to write one final letter.

In the end, he did send the letter to his ex-wife, deciding he needed her to know and didn’t care what she thought. Maybe just hoping she wouldn’t mock him too openly. She didn’t, only confirmed she received the letter when Yev repeated word for word the message she had for him. “Stop being scared, you’re not pussy.” Both Yev and Ian looked at him quizzically wanting to know more. But that’s all that was ever discussed about the letter Mickey sent to Svetlana, the letter where he spilled his gut.

*

Ian absently pulled his t-shirt down over his tracksuits. He grabbed Bernie’s comb because it was the easiest to reach and sleeked his hair back without looking in the mirror. He meticulously put the comb back exactly where he had found it given that his daughter was oddly strict about her hair product and material and even out of her 7 year old, she could pull a Milkovich fit that would even scare Mickey. Not that they wouldn’t laugh about the cuteness of it, later on, in the sanctity of their parental bedroom. 

Ian picked his clothes of the day up from the floor, along with Yev’s and Mickey boxers from last night. He annoyingly dropped the whole lot down the shoot, silently cursing at Mickey to be somewhat of a slob, and more importantly, encouraging his son to be one. He made his way back to their bedroom, where he had some laundry to fold. At the top of the main stairs, he stopped for a second, out of habit, listening to the kids downstairs. TV was on, they were speaking together, and making out the voices, he was able to say it was just the two of them. He got to the bedroom in two quick strides and noticed straight away when he entered that the laundry had been put away. So, it seemed Mickey had come home while he was in the shower. He was about to rush down the stairs and ask his husband how he was feeling after doing the assignment Winters gave him. Ian had thought it was a good idea and had also been surprised that it took him all together five minutes to convince Mickey to do it. Although he’d try to not show it, he was excited to find out the outcome.

Then he noticed it, at the foot of the bed, folded in half, his name written in Mickey’s chicken scratch. He sat on the bed as he grabbed the paper, surprised and maybe just a little stressed to find out what Mickey had to get out of his chest about him.

_~~Babe,~~ _

_~~Ian,~~ _

_My love,_

_You like the pet name? You like it as much as I do? Yeah so, I haven’t told you everything, man. Winters wanted me to write a fucking letter to you too. Surprise bitch!_

_Like I can’t speak to you every day!_

_Fuck! Ok so here the thing, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know if I was even gonna do it. But fuck, babe, it kinda works. I felt better after I wrote to my dad, so I guessed I should just keep going._

_So, she basically told me to tell you what you changed in my life and what I think about it. So, here goes nothing bitch._

_First, I think we can both agree that you’re a fucking annoying motherfucker! I mean, who fucking cares if the laundry is not put away straight away? I mean, since Yev came to live with us you transformed into a fucking housewife! Shit, I can still fucking hear you calling me mother hen like it’s hilarious!_

_Look what you turned me into! I’m fucking soft… and I fucking love it, babe. I really didn’t know I could be a father. You saw it before me, didn’t you?_

_Fuck I never thought I could be anything, really. All I am is because of you. All the happy and even the petty arguments over fucking laundry, Ian, it’s all because of you._

_You know, even if we don’t speak about it much, I don’t regret anything that happened. Not a fucking thing. That’s what got us here._

_With my fucking asshole of a dad, the only future I figured was me dead on a pavement at age 22. But now, it’s like… I fucking imagine white picket fence and apple pies. All because of you motherfucker!_

_And I know there’s been some bad stuff, I know you blamed yourself for that. I think at some point I blamed you too. But I don’t anymore, and more importantly, this was never a deal breaker. I knew from the start you were it for me. I never told you that but the moment I knew is when you visited me in juvie. You were the only one that did. Not that I was expecting anyone really, not even you, but you came. You put your fucking hand on the glass like we were in a fucking romcom. Like it’d be that easy to be happy. And just right there, I believed you. And I knew you were it. I fought it, with everything I had. ‘Coz I didn’t deserve it and you deserved better. But when you know, it’s hard to unknow it, I guess._

_That’s why that’s never been a question for me to come back to you. That, I never doubted. No matter what happened, no matter what happens in the future, there’s no doubt in my mind that I will, any step of the way._

_There’ll be stuff coming up, maybe bad maybe not, cos you know, it’s us. But know that… I’ll always come back to you_

_Because I belong to you._

_That’s that simple._

_That’s it, no way you can ever see that letter, ever! I fucking spilled my guts like a fucking girl. You’d never let it go and that’d be another source of laughs for the motherfucking Gallagher herd!_

_You know I don’t believe in that crap soul mate shit… but…_

*

Mickey was leaning against the wooden jamb of the kitchen opening looking at his son helping his daughter with her homework. Dramatically throwing his face into his hands every time her calculations were not correct. She rolled her eyes back at him. Math was not her thing; she was better at English. And even though it was not physically possible Mickey had decided to believe she got that from Ian.

His mind kept wandering back upstairs, to the letter he let on the bed. He must have made up his mind about a thousand time over. And right now, deciding once again that this was not a good idea, he almost ran up the stairs to pick the piece of paper and tore it to shreds. Ian didn’t need the words, he knew all that already, didn’t he?

Before he could even change his mind again, he felt Ian’s hands resting gently flat on his stomach, his breath on his neck. And just like that he was happy Ian got to read him.

“I belong to you too, my love, always have.”

They had the most normal, domestic dinner time. Much like every night, lately. As a family at the kitchen table. They had cauliflower because it was important to have vegetable and they had chicken nuggets because they weren’t stupid yuppies!

The two fathers hadn’t told their kids about their new brother or sister yet. They figured they’d wait to be sure, at which point Sandy would come and live in the spare room/future nursery. Mickey had already repaired the door, and they would soon refurbish the room to make it more welcoming for the mother of their child. Not that Sandy cared much (She said she was fine on the couch). But they cared and as she put it, they had become soft bitches. Fair enough.

After dinner, Yev and Bernie washed their teeth. Ian checked Bernie’s toothbrush as she had tendencies to ‘forget’ to use water, or toothpaste or toothbrush when she washed her teeth lately.

Then everyone went to bed.

Ian closed the door and casually strode to his awaiting husband. Their mouths connected before anything else. The kiss was slow, tender, no sparkles, not yet. But that’s all they wanted in that instant, sweet, slow connection. Ian undressed Mickey, slowly, with intent, accompanying his grey flannel over his shoulders, along the arms, to the floor where he kneeled and pulled up the white wife beater that was still covering Mickey’s upper body by the hem, delicately dropping a kiss on his hipbone. Mickey took a loud breath at the feeling of Ian’s mouth on him, he wanted more, felt the impatience of his body but wanted the slowliness and the feelings hidden behind every gesture of the ginger man now looking up at him while undoing his belt. He mechanically brought his hand to his husband’s face stroking delicately his side as if to smudge the freckles there. Their gazes met, getting lost there for a moment, blue and green melting into each other creating a brand-new shade of cyan, that was only theirs. Called back to reality by the muffled thump of Mickey’s jeans and belt dropping on the floor. Ian took it as his cue to stand back up. He grabbed Mickey’s nape of neck and pulled him up for a more passionate kiss this time, pushed his tong inside of an awaiting wet mouth, to meet with his lover’s tongue. They kissed for a while, reveling in the passion of something as simple as that, although they would certainly not admit that sometimes kissing was just enough for them to connect on a level that they even didn’t always understand.

Ian broke the kiss, dragged his tong from Mick’s mouth to his ear, gently pulling his lobe between his teeth, heat rising in his lower belly.

“I want you to top.” This was said quietly, a definite statement. Still the brunette slowly breaking down in his arms found the strength to argue.

“Babe, I don’t know If I can fuck you th…”

“I don’t want you to fuck me my love, I want you to make love to me. I want it to be sweet, tender, romantic even.” Mickey could feel his smile on his skin, right below his ear. He could feel the goose bumps running his body. He could feel his heart growing in his chest making it just a little harder to catch his breath.

“I want it to be romantic, just like we both know you can be.” And how could he say no to that, how could he say no to him, ever?

And Mickey made love to Ian, slowly, tenderly, surprised when none of the seeding anger came up. Like it wasn’t there anymore. So, he authorized himself to get lost in the moment. Connect with Ian, finally, like Ian connects with him.

“Turn around, I want to see your face.” Mickey withdrew and leaned back on his knees, watching a panting ginger stud turning around awkwardly and unceremoniously bringing his legs up, hands pulling behind his knees. He was fucking beautiful all weak and quivering beneath his touch. Micky took time to enjoy it, running his hands on his husband’s chest, thighs. Looked at the skin reaction under his fingers, feeling each moan and groan elicited from the man breaking down under his touch. Each sound reverberating against his ribcage, bouncing up in his throat before dropping down heavily in his balls. He needed sweet release.

Mickey entered Ian, slowly, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. When he was positive there was none, he pushed further and pulled back, creating a movement that got Ian to be a little more vocal than expected.

Mickey tried to shush him, but lost his ground and dropped on Ian’s chest, his shushing interrupted by happy laugh. Quickly followed by Ian chuckles against his temple. But he didn’t stop pistonning into his husband. Laughter slowly turning back into grunts, torsos rubbing, harden nipples acting as some sort of interference in the smooth movement. They came, almost together, mouth open against skin, licking out the salt of sweat, the chemicals of serotonin. And they laughed again. And they kissed. They wouldn’t often do that again, because they enjoyed the natural order that came to them as an evidence. Also, because that night would be in their mind forever, there was no need for repeat.

After Mickey had cleaned Ian, and both their chests with a warm clothe that was to be found dry the next morning, discarded somewhere in their room, the same way Ian was doing every single time, hey slowly drift into sleep.

Ian was holding mickey in his arms, both on their sides, his arms around the smaller man’s shoulders, hands intertwined. His breath hitting all of Mickey’s back hair and slowing down. They were both falling asleep, letting the night engulf their rested hearts.

“I don’t believe in soulmates either, Mickey, but…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... do you believe in soulmates?

**Author's Note:**

> So what do you think of this first chapter? Comments and kudos always appreciated^^
> 
> Did anyone guess in Blyad that Debbie was pregnant? I left some clues!😁


End file.
